


Love in Woodstock

by Fangirlinit



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlinit/pseuds/Fangirlinit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leaving the broken pieces of marriage behind her, Regina takes her son out of the city and back to the town she swore never to return to. There she suffers a week with her whimsical, bohemian mother and encounters way more peace, love, and misunderstanding than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another oldie, so I'll be updating the rating as I go.
> 
> This AU was inspired by the film Peace, Love, and Misunderstanding. Two additional things to note: Regina and Emma are older in this story. Regina is 42 while Emma is 35. Secondly, the town of Woodstock was not in fact the location for the 1969 Woodstock Festival. It was supposed to take place there (hence the festival’s name), but the town rejected the permit. Woodstock Festival was subsequently moved 60 miles away where it was held in the town of Bethel. Also, I feel the responsibility to inform you all that this is Cora crack of the highest order.

Henry stared out the passenger window. He had been doing so for these past two hours and since leaving his family’s luxury three-bedroom apartment he didn’t think it was too late to turn back.

There was nothing exciting about the countryside rushing past his window. Not much resembled the buzzing metropolitan of New York. No, these parts were the quintessential model of boredom with their rural communities and white steeple churches and ye olde grocery stores. Folks with their mud splattered dungarees and ice cream cone toting teens. This wasn’t home to Henry. It was all barely familiar to him.

The thought of what _was_ familiar to him made the ache in his chest intensify and spur him to reminisce of all the times he _hadn’t_ been on a vacation. His mom had always been too busy at the firm to take him any further than a nice hotel in the city. Of course, if she weren’t the most hardworking parent in the tri-state area, then there would be something to complain about. His dad was more lenient with time, and every summer he took him to one of the water parks within reasonable driving distance. But not once had his parents taken him to Disney World or Six Flags or the dozen other attractions he requested. Never to Orlando or Hershey or San Diego where a typical family spent their vacations.

Maybe that’s why his parents were getting a divorce. He’d love to blame himself, the son who just wanted to spend a weekend away doing touristy stuff. It would make things so much easier. However, at an appropriate age to know better, he realized it wasn’t all about him. The sheer number of issues that broke down a marriage might be in the teens, yet if the sleep worn couch of his family’s living room meant anything it was that it only took one of those issues to separate _his_ parents.

A road sign appeared in the distance. As his mom’s car hurtled forward on the pavement the city limit loomed ever closer with its rounded edges and white typeface on green ambiance. Henry stared at “Woodstock” as it passed by, wondering not for the first time why they hadn't ventured this far from home before.

Technically, the notorious town lied just upstate of New York within a drivable distance for a weekend getaway. It being the second week off of school Henry wasn’t about to complain about where he spent his summer vacation. He would just rather have had an explanation as to why he got a mere 10 minutes to throw four days’ worth of clothing in a suitcase and snag any other supplies he couldn’t live without. At the very least he could have had a little warning.

Apparently a warning and an explanation were too much to ask for. His dad wasn’t a big help what with him not being present, obviously, and his mom seeming too out of sorts to raise a brow at. Five minutes into packing his thumb poised over the “send” button of his phone, which if pressed would have dialed his dad back into the heart of Mills Family Trials. Henry wanted answers. He wanted closure and a couch that didn’t collect change from its resident sleeper’s pockets. But like blaming himself for his parent’s wedding woes wasn’t justifiable, dragging his dad through a prickly bush wasn’t right either. When you had a corporate litigator for a mother you knew there would be no plea bargain. When Dad was guilty, he was guilty as charged.

As much as he craved explanation he didn’t need to get in trouble with his mom. He winced just thinking of the repercussions: his mom flailing her hands in the air while keeping them a safe distance from her only child and scolding up and down about “bringing your father into matters he washed his hands of before you were born.”

The only reasons she gave her son for the impromptu trip were two things Henry was unprepared to reconcile with: divorce and Grandmother. Elaborating in her usual courtroom friendly diction was out of the question, so she kept both hands on the wheel and steered them north.

“Is my grandmother dead?” Henry asked, turning from the window. Her hands tightened on the wheel like it had half a mind to roll out the window. He eyed the whites of her knuckles. “Is that why we left home?”

Instead of the surly response expected, Henry received the worst possible cure for boredom: silence.

* * *

The heels of her shoes sunk into something soft and manure-like and Regina knew she made a mistake.

Cora Mills’ land rested on the edge of Woodstock proper, though the drive into town was but a hop, skip, and an engine backfire away (if you were driving Cora’s car, that was). A two-story house sat on the flat stretch of property. Not far away stood a rather large shed which housed Cora’s more ambitious “projects,” a fenced in chicken coop, and two cars: a Ford Pinto and a vibrantly custom painted VW Westfalia. Of the two, only one seemed borderline operational while the tires of the other sank four inches underground. The latter might not have seen pavement since John Lennon bit the dust.

Regina inhaled slowly, feeling the past overcome her like a Ford Pinto blaring CCR from the radio. Squinting with distaste, she went forward, Henry following closely behind.

The pleats of Regina’s ironed black trousers were like a plow parting through the knee-tall grass, overgrown and overrun with the dry heat of the summer sun. Beyond the brush awaited vaguely kempt grass which reached miles outside of Regina’s standard. Every step taken towards that house helped her remember with alarming clarity the reasons for which she left this charming plot of land.

It being 23 years since she last set foot in Woodstock, Regina took a moment to note the changes. There were not many. The house still stood, amazingly enough, and the foundation appeared to hold up to years previous. Brittle white paint cracked and curled at the edges. Wind chimes hung in various characters of rust and eclecticism. The wood floorboards that made up the wrap around porch were caved in some areas and warped by the elements in others. A still shoddy air conditioning system was evidenced by the array of windows cracked open for ventilation. The landscape alone rivaled that of the brush Regina and Henry just battled through. Shrubbery and flowering plants hugged the porch on all four sides. Given enough freedom it could all scuttle into the house and grow indoors. From the looks of it that seemed to be Cora’s plan.

The point being, it looked as dilapidated and inhospitable as it did when Regina ran from it all those years ago. Still the counterculture shack of her childhood.

“Cool,” gasped Henry.

Regina’s head turned in time for her to witness the unadulterated wonder. She subsequently rolled her eyes. Of course he thought it looked cool. This hovel was the closest thing he had to a vacation… ever. A part of Regina shattered into pieces at the memory of a dissatisfied, tear-streaked boy. She always strived to give him everything. Her bank account provided the luxury apartment, the nice clothes and new toys, scrumptious food made healthy, and a hundred channels worth of cartoons, all for him. She knew she failed as a mother in some respects, but not taking her child to Disney World? That was one thing she’s sure Henry would forgive her for down the line. It was child’s play compared to the litany of grievances her own mother was guilty of.

Henry’s eyes bugged out at the sight. To him the “shack” held a different meaning than his mom. To him it was awesome because it was the kind of change he’d been looking for all his life, living with two people who cared nothing for one another in a house with no warmth or memory. The house before him looked to have plenty of warmth and memory to spare.

Everything about this day was life altering for Henry. He had never seen paint peel this drastically or heard the haphazard jingle of wind chimes, not when he lived in an affluent neighborhood evenly spaced with apartments no older than the year 2000. The garden, too, held significance in that it grew to almost abnormal proportions, not like what one would see in Central Park. This was a genuine old house, probably haunted, definitely slanted on an angle, and too impressive for a young teenager to take in all at once.

Though his excitement grew minute by minute, Henry upheld something his mom called “decorum” and bit down on the burning question of “Does an insane person live here?” It was something better left unsaid, otherwise she would have dignified it with an unwavering “yes.”

The first thing Regina did upon meeting the steps of the porch was look for signs of pot. Stepping through the garden plot she pushed aside some bushes, bent down, careful not to kneel in her nice trousers, and peered through the basement windows. They were too smudged to make anything out, but maybe that was for the best. She’d rather be oblivious of her mother’s less than legal dealings than get roped into the guilt of lying for her.

“Mom, what are you doing?”

“I’m protecting you, dear. You have no idea what goes on in this house. Trust me.”

Henry raised a quizzical brow. His mom seemed to ride right past “unhinged” and hurtle straight for Ludicrous City. “What is so hazardous that has you burglarizing my grandmother’s home?”

Giving up, empty-handed of evidence by which to charge Cora with, Regina sighed and straightened. She brushed off her immaculate pants, realizing the irony of how out of place she looked in a place like this.

Regina curled an arm around Henry’s shoulders and had to but lean down a touch for the whisper to reach his ear. “If she makes you brownies, dear, politely decline.”

Henry just gazed at her with that same mixture of amusement and mystification before following her into bohemian grandeur.

Once inside it became even easier to remember why Regina left in the first place. Staring blankly through it and failing to block the onslaught of memory, she took a deep breath and let it out with her anxiety. But not all of the tension left. She paused, giving it time to slough off before she did something she’d regret. Like scream.

“You okay?”

Regina blinked. The next exhale felt easier somehow. She felt the brush of her son’s shoulder and relaxed.

It hadn’t changed one bit. The kitchen remained cluttered with empty blue glass jars and far too many utensils (who needs _five_ ladles?). Potted ferns rested on the floor and on the countertops. The small dining room only had room for a four seated, round table. Decorated the walls were paintings Cora made with her own two hands and which included the ever suitable nude portraits. There’s nothing like eating a nice warm meal while the bare-assed, hairy man watched.

Each room was separated by beaded curtains which clinked and caught the light when parted. Regina stepped into the living room which was covered in variegated, speckled wall paper that _might_ have passed in the early 70s. Bookcases were chock full with vinyl and cassettes, and “how to” books on balancing your chakra. Every piece of furniture was covered in fuzzy, wacky patterned blankets Cora knit herself and was made complete with brightly colored pillows.

Regina sighed, taking notice of the number of lamps her mother had acquired over the years. Cora could not keep her hands off the fixtures. Everyone in Woodstock, no doubt, knew of her compulsion to “liberate” any and all lamps that showed up at garage sales. Now it looked like Cora could open a lamp outlet. Every shade came in oddball shapes and sizes Regina turned up her nose at.

The door leading out back was open, revealing a frizzy brown haired woman on the porch. She sat at a table with arms elbow deep in wet clay. The wide sleeves of her top were rolled up but not enough to escape the muddy fruits of her labor. Her head bobbed to a tune despite the lack of music and the heels of her bare feet drummed a beat on the deck. Suddenly her hands paused on the spinning wheel. She gasped before even laying eyes on them.

“You’re late!”

Regina stared at the overjoyed expression on her mother’s face and bit back a sneer. “I didn’t tell you we were coming.”

“Oh, I know that.” Cora flapped a hand, the dozen bracelets clanking on her wrist. “Last night I dreamt of your visit – the ‘Second Coming,’ if you will.”

“Was that pre or post purple haze?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Regina? The powers never steer me wrong.”

“If you can call an annual stint in a prison cell right…”

Henry’s head cocked. “What powers?”

Cora’s eyes widened enormously. A novice on her very own porch! To Cora this was an opportunity to mold young minds. “Well,” she stood and used a rag to wipe the clay from her hands before clapping them once and shaking them out. It was her preparation for utilizing them in a string of gestures to accompany whatever lecture was in store. Regina rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. Cora licked her lips and said, “Well, it’s like this: there are people in this life who have special… gifts – in my case the ability of clear-sightedness. Technically, we are not that different from the general population; our senses are just more refined, more adapted. And extra-sensory perception affects each individual in unique ways. Some acquire knowledge through touch or smell, others through dreams –“

“Hallucinations,” Regina interjected.

“Dreams or hypnosis or even drug induced trances.”

“ _Jesus_.”

“No, one would think so, Regina, but Christ-like visions are not as prevalent these days.”

Regina’s jaw clenched as she thought up a more toxic curse.

Henry squinted, working through what Cora had said. She certainly didn’t _look_ like a ward of the insane asylum. In fact Cora gave off a relatively laidback vibe. Her face and hair weren’t like the high fashion, heavily painted natives of New York. Her wide bottomed pants gave a funny swish sound with every move and she was strung out on some bead phase; her whole existence clanked with them. Cora donned the cloak of your typical quirky grandmother. Everyone had at least one in the family, or so Henry heard from friends. She wasn’t the Ugg conforming type, and that suited him just fine.

“So,” Henry prepared his choice of words carefully, “you’re saying you’re a clairvoyant?”

“What a bright, groovy child. You must be my grandson!”

Regina saw the ploy from a mile away. It was like it was occurring before her in slow motion and she could do nothing to stop it. While it was true, Henry had grown up into a mature, stable young man whom Regina didn’t have to worry about all that much when it came to peer pressure, but this was _Cora_. She turned the power of suggestion into an art form. If Regina didn’t do something quick her own son would transform into a pot smoking, tarot card reading pacifist.

“You see fuzzy images and attribute them to your future. It’s wishful thinking.”

“It’s spiritualism!” Cora exclaimed joyfully, nearly hopping on the balls of her feet. “And a perfectly valid belief system.”

“Sanctified by whom? Joni Mitchell?”

"A creed based on love is the best kind there is. Who are those corporate hacks you work for to tell me differently?”

“At least they’re too busy paying off taxes to dance naked under the moon and evade the IRS.”

“Still the defeatist I see.” Cora huffed quietly and crossed her arms. She stuck her chin up and muttered elsewhere, “And lunar rituals are not done in the nude. You’re referring to the spring equinox.”

Regina dropped her head into her hands. She really didn’t have time for her mother’s neo-paganism bullshit. Not in this life or the next.

When Henry felt the tension getting thicker by the second he broke in, “You’re house is awesome.”

Cora matched his smile with a wide one of her own. “Totally, right?” she gushed.

The healthy, 60-something body of Cora buzzed with excitement. She felt it thrum from the tips of her fingers to her ten bare toes. She was so enthusiastic by the presence of her grandson and his show of unabashed interest in the ethereal that, with the awe projected in his eyes, she swiftly assumed that she had at least one of the Mills hook, line, and sinker. Though she refused to give up hope on Regina, Cora spied a bit of an opening in converting young Henry. And when she saw an opening did she ever dive in arms spread eagle.

When Cora brought a gape-mouthed Henry in for a hug, Regina didn’t smile. She didn’t even curl her lip in disdain. If she felt anything it was pity for her son. Maybe even a bit of payback for all those late night hours soothing his cries and failing to temper his tantrums at Whole Foods before people started pointing. Because there was no better joy for a mother than seeing that “oh shit help” look beckon from within the bear hug of your own mother. So okay, maybe a smile wasn’t out of the question.

Not soon enough for Henry was he able to extricate himself from the iron arms of his grandmother and back away from her oddly sweet perfume. He went back to the car to grab his belongings.

When he walked away, out of earshot, Regina closed in on Cora with a serious frown set. “Are you still growing marijuana in the house?” She could get her point across any clearer. A hot shot litigator would shrink in his loafers at the underlying ferocity behind the words. “I ask because I know you and my son does not. He doesn’t have a clue as to what it even smells like and I would very much like to keep it that way. The health and safety of my child is foremost in my mind.”

“Please,” drawled Cora, chuckling as she did so, “my psychotropic days are past. I’ll have you know it takes more than ganja to paint a masterpiece. You know what it takes? Raw. Talent.” She paused in afterthought, narrowed her eyes, and added with a wagging finger, “And yoga.”

“What you do in your house is your prerogative, but this weekend I expect different. No funny business under any circumstances.”

Primly clasping her hands before her, Cora mocked Regina’s sternness by uttering deeply, “No funny. Just business.”

“I suppose you imagined this to be some vacation, right?”

After a double take, Cora asked innocently, “Isn’t it?”

“Of course not. When have you ever known me to take a vacation?”

“If you called once and a while I could answer that.”

“This is not a vacation. This is a pause.”

“A pause?”

“A life pause.” A wave of fatigue washed over Regina. The drive might only have been two hours but the blitzkrieg of crazy that was her mother had a tendency to lay the anxiety on thick. She sighed, rubbing her fingers to her temples. “I really don’t have time to explain the bullet points, Mother. I have to check on Henry and then unpack.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

Regina’s eyes were already trained on the subtle lean of the ‘shack’ and brainstorming a thousand ills. “I can’t image what has befallen him. God knows what he’s stumbled on in this house.”

“If you mean the porn stash under your bed there’s no need to fret. I stored them in a nicely sealed box.” Cora smiled. “For the Second Coming!”

Regina’s mouth could have caught flies. “Mother!”

“It’s waiting for you in the attic. See for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“ _Mother!_ ”

“Oh, come on. At least I gave you your space. No person can claim to have had a more liberating childhood than you. I let you read gay _and_ straight porn! You should be thankful young lady.” Cora straightened despite her stumble in doing so. Even she knew the show of authority didn’t fool Regina. The bare feet didn’t exactly help her cause.

At this point Regina could only throw up her hands. She did so with an air of frustration. “You cannot bait me into your evil plans by playing parent. It never works. You’re about as menacing as a kitten in bell-bottoms.”

“Aw, a kitten?” Cora cooed as she followed her daughter into the house. “I always thought you considered me more of a corgi –so energetic and loveable. But who am I kidding? Kittens are just as squishy.”

The marching staccato of heels trailed through the living room, the kitchen, and approached the staircase to the second floor. “I’m going to inspect my old room. I better not find anything illegal or humiliating.”

“Okay then. Don’t go far, though!”

Stopping halfway up the stairs, Regina closed her eyes. She turned; one hand on the bannister, the other on her hip. Her face sported apprehension. There was always a one in three chance with Cora that these circumstances boded bad news. “Why not?”

“I’m inviting a few people over later tonight. Just a little shindig.”

“No.” Regina shook her head emphatically. She knew exactly what kind of people her mother was inviting and she didn’t like it one bit. “No. Henry and I _just_ got here. We are tired from the drive. We want to unpack and enjoy some peaceful silence. There will be no shindig. Not tonight.”

Cora shrugged. “It’s just a little thing. Don’t worry so much, Regina. Your face looks grumpy when it worries.”

“It’s called pain, Mother. Pain and suffering.”

“So dramaaatic.” Cora turned her back and ambled back to where her spinning wheel was calling to her. A hand waved in the air as she called out, “Guests arrive at seven. Put on something fabulous and embrace the unexpected!”

* * *

“Henry,” Regina’s knuckles met the door in a gentle knock, “it’s Mom. May I come in?”

“Yeah.”

“I see you’ve settled in.”

Placing the open book on his chest, Henry panned around the attic with its old furniture and cardboard boxes. He recrossed his legs and settled back on the bed. The pages of his book fluttered against his breath. “Yeah, it’s pretty sweet.”

“I’m not so sure sleeping up here is the best idea. There is dust everywhere and probably mold. You could catch a serious infection.”

“I dusted off most of it. And there’s no mold or anything. Relax, Mom.”

Regina sighed heavily as her eyes roved around the low-ceiling quarters and tried to do as her son asked. She began to back out of the room but just as her heel scraped the floor she surged forward, gripping the door knob tightly in her fist.

“What are you reading?” she asked, brows raised.

“Just some book. It’s not that interesting.”

“Oh.” Regina nodded. He certainly didn’t look bored. “Okay.”

Henry rolled his eyes before going back to reading. He got a few lines down the page before a floorboard squeaked. Exhaling roughly, he dropped his book to view his mother looking down at her shifting feet.

Hearing the sigh, Regina glanced up. “Are you sure you don’t want me to clean up this space? It’s really not healthy to breathe in all this du –“

“Mom, I’m busy and I don’t feel like meeting Grandma’s weird friend circle.” Henry felt a pang of guilt as he saw the lines on his mother’s face contort. “It’s been what, twenty years? Just go and get it over with already. This is me being supportive.”

“How kind of you to say so from a place of safety,” Regina snipped softly before drawing close the door to the attic.

Henry fingered the page of his book. “Don’t forget it.”

* * *

“Davis! Open up! Come on, I know you’re not using the bathroom!”

Emma Swan held herself up by bracing a hand against the door frame. Despite claiming to be an adult she couldn’t help squeezing her thighs together to keep the six hours of digested coffee at bay and squirming around to help distract from her bursting bladder.

“Christ on a friggin’ cracker, man! I know it’s you, Davis. I hear you giggling. I just ended my shift and I _have_ to _go!_ ”

No sooner did Emma stop her hopping when some brunette on a mission stumbled into her (or did she stumble into the brunette?). Bracing herself and her smushed boobs against the wall, she turned her head towards the woman stomping down the narrow hallway in her smart high heels. “Excuse _me_.”

Before she could think more of it Emma’s urgency leaped back to mind.

“Seriously!” she shouted, pounding on the door with her open hand. “Or I’ll tell Cora –“

The door cracked open to reveal a suspicious eye. After a thorough inspection Davis threw back the door with a whoosh if not for effect than to upset the haze that had filled the bathroom.

Emma narrowed her eyes. “She told me this has been a clean house since last Tuesday.”

“Heey, no biggie. You’re off duty, remember?”

Cheeks rosy and eyes sparkling, Davis walked past smiling wider than need be.

“If I didn’t have to pee like a racehorse…” Emma hissed with a threatening eye before clamoring into the bathroom.

When business wrapped up Emma ambled down the staircase and joined the party. Cora Mills’ “shindigs” as she affectionately called them were the parties everyone wished they could host. Of course, there was no one like Cora like there was no house like hers. No one could invite fifty souls, throw alcohol into the mix, and expect them to act like adults. Things got broken, people got wrecked, and sometimes the police showed up. That’s not why Emma stopped by and that’s definitely not why Cora Mills’ shindigs were legendary or the object of jealousy.

Cora had a way with people.

Nearly everyone in Woodstock surfaced to be a part of these parties. Whether you loved her or hated her Cora made you feel like a part of her family. The best liquor was stocked, the tallest piles of appetizers were soaked in her famous barbecue sauce, and no buts were made about touching her stereo because “Free and unlimited Grateful Dead for all!”

The grand occasion came to pass at least twice a week. People were envious because Cora thrived on sharing a part of herself, her home, her food, and her booze, and because they knew every corner of her heart had room for each and every one of them. It took a lot of courage to sacrifice your love for the average Joe down the street, but with Cora it wasn’t sacrifice, it was happiness. She enjoyed the smiles she put on their faces. One less wine bottle in her cellar meant dancing on tables and setting off fireworks at one in the morning. One knit blanket stained with vomit was like a charitable act on her part.

There wasn’t a malicious bone in Cora Mills’ body and that’s why her parties were “The Parties.” Cora was a kind woman who had much to offer. It’s why Emma joined in the festivities as a friend in jeans and a loose black button up and not a figurehead in uniform.

Emma slipped and weaved between party goers. Thankfully no one stopped her to say hello or offered to dance. After a long shift there was only one thing on Emma’s mind and upon arriving in the kitchen her eyes struck gold.

“Jackpot.”

Eyes glazed over the smorgasbord of food weighing down the counter. Some of it was a pot luck of dishes, but the majority had Cora’s name on it in shrimp with cocktail sauce, vegan egg rolls, mini barbecued meatballs, cheese quesadillas, steak and veggie kabobs, stuffed mushrooms, artichoke dip, Reuben dip, queso dip, chips with guac and salsa, and that’s not including the desert feast.

Emma snagged some toothpicks and speared a few of the meatballs without much contemplation. Since hearing about the impromptu shindig her mouth watered in wait, and Emma would not waste any more of her life without those delectable little meatballs.

A husband and wife couple Emma recognized entered the kitchen. They nodded to one another. Nothing needed to be said. Once you saw Cora’s spread there was no talking, just the bit moans and groans of delight.

“Mmm,” Emma resounded, twisting a pick and its accompanied meatball.

After her fill of finger food she grabbed a beer from the fridge and leaned back against it. She closed her eyes and tipped the bottle back, drinking the cool liquid. The distinctive sound of Neil Young’s electric started on the stereo and emanated through the house. When it reached Emma’s ears she let herself linger down the river of lyrics. Soon the stress of the work day dissipated for her head to bob along to the tunes.

* * *

“Regina!” screeched Cora from within a mosh pit of dancers.

Her frizzy hair was styled up in a lazy knot. Homemade earrings dangled like pendulums and hung low enough to brush her shoulders. She hadn’t changed her clay splattered outfit from earlier, yet still somehow managed to make it look the fashion. No one cared. Everyone commented on her new beaded necklace and offered protestations of how “harmonious” and “blooming” she looked, like she was a flower. At least she had shoes on.

“I finally found you. Have you been in this corner the whole time?”

“My seventh corner in the span of 30 minutes. It seems I cannot evade you, Mother.”

“W-what are you wearing?” Cora took a precautionary step back like the business slacks and blouse were radioactive. She pointed a finger and weaved it over the outfit. “I told you to put on something _fabulous_. Really, dear, you look like you’re off to take legal action on somebody.”

Eyes scanning the crowd, Regina retreated further into the corner with arms hugged tight around her waist. “I just might.”

“Not to mention that frown is a bit drab for a party.” At her daughter’s glare Cora threw up her hands in defense. “I’m only offering to help. Speaking of, come with me. I want to introduce you to someone.”

“A new client?” Regina quipped saucily. She frowned at her mother’s grip on her arm. Talk about persistent. “Or someone I can take to court?”

Cora snickered, muttering, “Depends on what you mean by _court_.”

Regina grit her teeth. If there was anything she hated more than losing a lawsuit it was people making her vulnerable. Cora and her friends always made her feel out of her element. Since childhood whenever Regina got wind of a party being held in their home she flew up the stairs to her room where her textbooks waited to be paged through. There it was moderately quiet and afforded a comfort and order her mother couldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. Where Cora bred tranquil anarchy, Regina needed rules, stability. If Regina was thankful for anything it was the sensible and conscientious traits she passed down to her son. At times Henry could be more level-headed than her husband and her mother combined.

Towed by the hand, Regina rolled her eyes upon being ushered into the kitchen of all places. Who the hell was so special for her to meet that they had to carry out this business among the food? The appetizers weren’t _that_ praise worthy.

With an overexcited call of “Emma!” Cora had a woman in long, wavy blonde hair turning to face them. Semi-fashionable ankle boots scuffed the kitchen floor as they spun. She had an athletic build; skinny blue jeans frayed and ripped at one knee, a dark button up shirt and sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a few leather bracelets on her wrist. Her face was devoid of makeup and the flushed tone her skin took on seemed a result of her third beer. Radiant yet subdued might be your typical first impression, yet this “Emma” didn’t seem all that different from the rest of the revelers. After a quick once over the only response Regina could scrounge up was an indifferent sniff.

“Oh, wow, you look great Cora.”

The praise was different from the others Regina heard that night. It wasn’t any less authentic. The woman’s green eyes broadened with honesty anyone with fashion sense would charge as undue. However, it differed from previous declarations in that the blonde’s eyes shifted from Cora to the brunette woman by her side as she dragged off the former’s name like she was yesterday’s celebrity.

The seldom rattled Regina would not shy away. She held the stare like her career depended on it.

“And you, Emma, look like the sun.”

The young woman’s cheeks blushed under the cradling hands of the hostess.

Regina frowned.

“Emma, this is Regina.” Cora gestured to her daughter like she was a letter on Wheel of Fortune. “Regina, dear, this is Emma Swan. Remember when I mentioned my meditation therapy? Well, this delightful flower leads yoga sessions at the community center every Wednesday and Saturday.”

Saccharine smile in place, Cora gave her daughter a push from behind. “I think that’s my cell phone!” Cora tipped her ear despite the fact that she and everyone there knew she didn’t own a cell. “I best be off. You two get on with it.” She finished with a pat to her daughter’s shoulder and an emphasized wink at Emma before making herself scarce.

Emma chuckled easily, but Regina remained as gloomy as the grave.

Before Regina had time to recover from this reeling “social outing” she found herself alone in the kitchen with a stranger and enough food to feed the entire Jimi Hendrix fan club.

“It’s good to finally meet you. Cora talks a lot about you.” The blonde grinned politely. “I hope it’s all true.”

“And I hope you are exaggerating.” Despite it being honest to her bones, Regina gave an inward grimace at the blunt delivery. To her, making new acquaintances was akin to scratching her forehead against a cheese grater. Not to mention she felt dreadfully out of practice. She thrust out her hand, biting her lip. “It’s lovely to meet you. Emma.”

Smiling, Emma swapped her beer from one hand to the other to return the shake. “I trust this ambush has made quite an impression.”

“It’s no different from when I lived here. I still recognize some of the people. It just takes some time to adjust.”

“We in Woodstock are a tough bunch to adapt to,” Emma admitted. “But we’re not that difficult. All I can say is you have to make an effort to see beyond the tie dye and the extravagant altruism.”

“That’s a big word for a small town yoga instructor.”

“You know, I’d take offense but you just got here, like, a few hours ago so I’ll give you a pass. I don’t think I could fault you for your misjudgment, though, as yoga isn’t my day job.” Her eyebrows soared and her face painted an expression of appall. “If it was I’d be worried.”

Regina would have asked why, but then she remembered that she hated meeting new people. To underscore the importance of that mantra she hardened her expression to that of inconsequence.

Suddenly Emma’s eyes panned down to Regina’s feet and flashed in recognition. Nice heels.

Regina shifted uncomfortably. Her mouth opened a few times before finally asking, “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just… I think we’ve met before. Technically, you were sprinting down the hallway too fast to notice me.”

“Oh…” Regina’s eyes fell closed as she felt the back of her neck flush in shame. “I-I’m sorry. That was horrible of me. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I didn’t –“

“Don’t sweat it. The threat of parties gets to my nerves too. Worst part is when you throw people in the mix.”

Regina’s mouth split into a grin. They chuckled easily together and soon Regina felt the tension lift off her shoulders. She sighed, having not felt this light since she threw her husband out of their bedroom.

As if wholly unaware of her own taste, Regina sidled up to the buffet and took a stab at one of the appetizers.

“So if instructing the good people of Woodstock in yoga is not your day job, what is?”

“Oh,” Emma breathed out a chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck to hide the blush, “I guess I could have led with that. If anyone should be tasked with ceremonial introductions it’s me. Um, I’m Sheriff Swan.”

Regina smiled, stared, and then gave a laugh. “Are you joking?” She had to be joking. Even if Emma was, that ridiculous grin she sported made Regina feel like a subject of ridicule. No mutually arranged hilarity here.

“I would never joke about an average salary and high turnover,” Emma explained, still smiling enough to irk Regina. “My staff is full of novice pencil pushers who never hang around long enough to learn anything. A lot of criminal justice grads come here to intern and gain experience. They think they’re going to be busting pot dealers out of their camper buses, but are soon sorely mistaken.” Emma sighed before taking a swig from her beer. It had since warmed between her sweaty palms. She winced. “They come and they go. Makes me feel old, to tell you the truth.”

“It seems we have something in common,” Regina conceded, lifting a shoulder. Her chest swelled with pride at having the opportunity to finally display her success. “In New York I work for a –“

“A prestigious law firm. I know.” Although the interruption was meant to be helpful, the knit in Regina’s brow told Emma that her social skills lacked good timing. “Sorry. You’re trying to make conversation and I shut you down.”

“I wasn’t, actually.” After all, lawyers don’t try. They kick legal ass and take names. Regina prepared a glancing scowl and set the bait. “Nonetheless, sheriffs usually possess more tact.”

“I should put that as a bumper sticker on my car.” Emma chuckled. “I own a VW Bug for christ’s sake. Talk about lacking tact.”

No dice. Not even a fish. Regina stewed in bitterness.

“If you would excuse me, I must check on my son.”

With a flip of her smooth brunette hair, Regina spun to leave. Emma barely had time to process the cold farewell before she was left blinking in an empty kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

The last thing Regina expected the next morning was to run into an anti-war rally smack in the middle of town. In fact, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. The rally was quite the attraction here in Woodstock. Regina herself was familiar with the passionate outcries because her mother exposed them to her at a very early age. Knowing Cora, Regina was probably present at these rallies when she was in the womb.

It all started at the house. Regina woke up refreshed, fully committed to work. That class action suit she’d been wrapped up in for the past year needed to be finished yesterday.

She rose from her childhood bed, sparing a glance at the glossy _Back to the Future_ poster curling at its edges. Sighing, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and escaped to the only shower in the house.

“Just as lovely as I remember it,” Regina muttered as she squeezed into the stall.

Henry and Cora must have already risen because the water came out ice cold. After that pleasant experience she downed two mugfulls of organic sludge which only saving grace was its solubility with milk. By the time she settled into a chair before her laptop all perseverance had dissolved leaving her bitter and itchy. Regina was going to have to talk to Cora about washing the dust from her bed sheets.

“God damn it.”

The computer received a good whack. Its only response was a continuous sputter. It coughed and wheezed until the thing died completely.

“God damn it!” She examined the battery and, upon finding it dead, dropped the laptop back down to the desk and threw up her hands. “Perfect.”

She snatched her keys, threw her car into drive, and navigated it around the muddy pot holes of the Mills property. When the town shops came into view she steered close to the curb, looking left and right for the Woodstock version of Best Buy.

That’s when she met the crowd head on.

“Hey! Remove your hand from my car!” She stormed out of her Mercedes, fiery eyes shifting from the hood to the man who laid his hand on it. “That’s my property,” she informed, hands on her hips.

“You’re in a restricted area. We’ve got a protest going here.” He lifted his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow before gesturing to the rally with it. “Unless you’re here to participate…”

“I would never,” she replied with deadly accuracy.

Her eyes wandered through the crowd, jumping from one vibrantly dressed activist to the next. Cora was present, no doubt, but the picket signs were too large and the crowd too dense to spot her. She sniffed indignantly, that is until one demonstrator caught her eye.

She left her car parked as was before the male protester could… well, protest.

A sharply dressed lawyer in a sea of political demonstrators could be described as ironic, but Regina wasn’t laughing and no one took notice. Henry did when he shifted the sign in his hand and subsequently unobstructed his view of the daggers headed for him.

“Don’t even try to blame your grandmother,” Regina said raising a finger. “She may be a passionate person when it comes to her causes and insufferably manipulative in gaining sympathy, but you know better.”

Before he could open his mouth she took the sign right out of his hands and thrust it at the nearest protester and ordering her to “Hold this.”

The woman who took it blinked behind her rainbow-colored aviators and replied with a judicious “Right on!” Her whole body seemed to nod with it.

Regina braced a hand to Henry’s back and steered him out of the crowd before any tribulations of ‘the Man’ could be impressed on him.

Henry rolled his eyes despite the hole he had dug for himself. Maybe humor would get him out of it this time.

“You look agitated. I mean, more so than usual.”

“If you were this observant, dear, you’d be interning at the firm, earning valuable references for college and not picketing at an anti-war rally.”

“Come on, you know I don’t want to work in law.”

“Fortunately for you I _am_ observant. Your potential is better spent elsewhere. You could have gotten arrested for disturbing the peace. Don’t roll your eyes at me. That is a serious offense. I do not want to find you amongst those low-lives again. And if I ever catch you insulting our military troops –“

“Doesn’t a separation mean you don’t have to feel guilty for not supporting your brother-in-law? I know he’s a marine and all and sacrifices a lot to keep us safe from nuclear war and the ‘Axis of Evil’… but even your mom doesn’t believe in this ‘don’t ask your country to do stuff for you, ask what stuff you can do for your country.’”

Brown eyes angled up and over as Regina cursed the school which failed to instruct proper language skills as well as the grandmother imprinting her half-baked morals on Henry.

“He’s still your uncle.” She turned him around with a firm yet loving shove to his shoulder. “Have some respect.”

Henry sighed. He took in his surroundings and realized she was still ushering him through town. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were working from the house today.”

“I wanted to spend time with you. This seems as good an opportunity as any. We don’t get many chances to talk you and I, especially with the big case I’ve been tied up with.”

Henry knew exactly what she wanted to talk about. Though it had been like pulling teeth to get anything out of her in New York, now that the ‘life pause’ as Regina termed it had commenced he just wanted to go and do his own thing. Talking out his feelings and assuring his mom the divorce wouldn’t scar him was the last thing on his ‘to do’ list.

“Uh, that’s great and all but…” He nibbled his lip, casting a hesitant glance down the street. “I kind of wanted to stop by the library.”

“Right. It’s not cool to be seen hanging out with your mom.”

Henry shrugged. “Nothing personal.”

“Of course not.” Regina made a face, a warped permutation of a wince and a smile. She was used to it. He was used to it. Being in Woodstock wouldn’t change it. “I love you.”

She whispered and Henry appreciated that. “Love you, too,” he sighed before turning.

He didn’t think about their exchange as he walked down the street. When he arrived at the Woodstock Public Library he pushed through the doors with renewed exhilaration. This was the start of a very exciting vacation despite his mom claiming it as anything but. Visiting a new town, finding out he had a living grandmother, and being exposed to her peculiar lifestyle in the same weekend? It resembled the dysfunctional family get-togethers in movies. It explained why the thought brought him to the DVD section of the library.

Henry reached the “D” titles when from out the corner of his eye he spotted a girl. And was she ever the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen? Probably. At least that’s what he told himself as he approached at a stealthy pace.

The girl had long dark hair which she curled around her ear. She was slouched in one of the reading armchairs, sneakers kicked up on the opposite couch. No mind was paid to the sign which instructed “Feet Off Furniture.”

She was sitting so he couldn’t tell how tall she was, but it appeared that they were the same age, if breaking rules was anything to go by. His skills at eavesdropping told him that kids his age got in trouble all the time – stealing stuff, smoking cigarettes, dating without a guardian’s say-so. The girl dirtying the chair was clearing upholding the stereotype as had Henry just a few minutes prior. As far as how remorseful each claimed to be… well, Henry wasn’t keen on seeing the disappointment in his mom’s eyes any time soon.

Henry still went unspotted. The girl’s head was bent over a magazine as she flipped through it. As if to live up to the cliché, she ripped a page out. A few pages later she liberated another with a long, near ear-splitting tear. The magazine, like all the books, movies, and various media, was a donation to the library from various benefactors. Public libraries were like god’s gift to poor children. Everything was free. Although Regina could afford to spend a fortune on his own private library, Henry treasured a place, a sanctuary, where he could read in peace. And yet this girl was vandalizing the magazine without the slightest remorse, not a bat of the eye.

Henry’s jaw fell open.

The magazine fell to the table, having lost the attention of its violent reader. She picked up another and commenced ripping – flipping and ripping and tearing without a care in the world.

He came closer with an unknowing grin plastered across his face. This girl was absolutely fascinating.

* * *

“She’s been _what?!_ ”

Regina pressed the phone firmly to her ear. She rose from her desk, face screwing into dismay as she heard the man speak on the other line.

“Great. I’m assuming there will be a fine that must be paid.” Her eyes closed and she nodded along with the voice. “Yes. Yes, of course.” More nodding. More scrubbing of hand to the migraine at her temple. “Unfortunately that is exactly what _I_ will have to do. Thank you for notifying me.”

When the Mercedes pulled into the parking lot Regina took a minute to collect herself. She was by all means ready to hit something and if her fists were to follow through it had best be the steering wheel and not Cora’s face.

Regina took a deep breath and let it out in a long exhale. When she didn’t feel so homicidal she proceeded to enter the police station. At reception a young man (presumably the one who had called Regina because there didn’t seem to be many staff present) smiled and handed over some forms for her to sign. He then informed her that she could proceed down the hall.

Pointing to the door with the frosted window, Regina received the okay to go. Her knuckles struck the door, the glass window rattling in its frame.

“It’s open.”

“Regina!” Cora smiled widely as her daughter entered the office.

Regina grinned stiffly. “Mother.”

The floor creaked, bringing Regna’s attention to the sheriff, still as casually dressed as she was smiling casually at her visitor.

“I’m glad you could come on short notice and take care of the fine. I’m sure Cora really appreciates it.” Emma’s tone dragged off as she cast a raised brow at the seated felon.

Cora blinked. She was then further prodded with a throat clearing from the sheriff and it finally hit her. “Oh, of course. Regina, I am entirely grateful. A mother had no better daughter. I mean, who helps bail their parents out of prison these days?”

“Surely not the children who grew up and got jobs. And yet here I am.”

“But this is good, Regina. This is a sign. I knew when I had that dream that you would return and make a difference here. And my have you changed things!”

“You should not think so highly of my abilities, Mother. Some people cannot be changed. It would take an act of god to conform your ways.”

“Well, dear,” Cora began, looking awfully haughty of herself, “your skills do overlap the realm of godlike power. If any of those lovers had kept screaming ‘god’ in your presence…”

“ _Mother!”_

Hand stifling the chuckle, Cora’s shoulders rose in apology. “Oh, dear. Was that said in confidence?” The little wink in Emma’s direction proved just how apologetic she claimed to be.

“I never even shared those things with you. _They’re_ private and _you’re_ an eavesdropper!”

“Have a heart, Regina. I just got out of prison.”

The sheriff propped a shoulder against one of the tall, metal file cabinets and crossed her arms over her chest. She watched the match, pursing her lips over her amusement. “Actually, you were detained in a holding cell. And it was only for a few hours.” Emma smiled wryly. “You’re gonna have to do better than block pedestrian traffic if you want to see the inside of a prison cell. Or should I say ‘worse?’”

Regina tipped her head in scolding. “Let’s not.” She turned to Cora to deliver a severe glance. “We’re leaving.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Emma said, following.

The sunlight hit Regina’s half-hearted frown. The flawless summer season seemed to be the only factor in bringing a bit of warmth to her demeanor. A light breeze dusted past her hair and she brought a hand up to corral it behind her ear. Woodstock smelled fresh, devoid of pollution, and had a calm, breezy quality to it – quite the opposite of the home she made in the city.

As Emma escorted the mother and daughter out of the police station she made a brief comment about what nice weather they were having. Regina lent half a mind to the voice for the other anticipated its leave. When the sheriff joined them outdoors Regina’s curiosity mounted. Surely the sheriff had other matters to attend to. Why on earth would she take time to follow through personally on one of Woodstock’s Mostly Wanted, Cora Mills? Regina couldn’t shake her surprise or her confusion. It seemed suspicious that a near stranger would care this much.

Or perhaps she was overthinking it. Lawyers had a tendency to keep on their toes in the presence of law enforcement, analyzing the angles and navigating loopholes. The part-time yoga trainer, full-time Sheriff Emma Swan was hardly an exception.

“Mother, please wait in the car. I need to have a word with the sheriff.”

Cora cast a hesitant look which then panned to Emma. The sheriff gave a nod from behind Regina, which deepened Cora’s put upon expression. She may appreciate getting bailed out, but to be commanded by women almost half her age? Unacceptable. Nevertheless, she felt some good vibes coming from this little summit between the sheriff and the lawyer. Let’s see this play out, Cora thought.

So she climbed into the passenger seat and created the performance of a scolded child, pout and all. Cora stifled a smile. She always wanted to be an actress.

Regina rolled her eyes at the sulking adult-child in the front seat of her Mercedes and turned. She gave the sheriff a tentative, almost rueful tip of the head. “I hope my mother apologized for her behavior. If not, than I do so on her behalf.”

“Cora isn’t one to express regret for speaking her mind.”

“I didn’t think so.” Regina sighed. “Although my paying Cora’s fine can be construed as an act of charity, I did so against my better judgment. If we’re speaking in confidence here, I’ll admit that I’d rather not have come. A night in a cell would have been a nice wake up call.”

“You sound like a horrible daughter,” Emma said, laughing.

Strangely, Regina found herself joining in. It felt good to make fun of her mother in the presence of a responsibly employed adult. “Are you speaking from experience, Sheriff?”

“Only as an officer of the law.”

“How fortunate.”

Emma shrugged. “Depends on your perspective.”

The tone, stripped of emotion, sparked curiosity in Regina. Again, she seemed to forget how uncomfortable making acquaintances was for her. But then Emma’s indelicate behavior last night in the kitchen could not be easily dismissed.

Despite Emma’s error, Regina couldn’t find it in herself to brush the woman off. She couldn’t explain it, but Emma seemed to be the only sane individual in Woodstock. She was sufficiently ordinary enough that Regina could mistake her for another passerby on the streets of New York. That was, if her appearance was updated a bit more and a comb was run through that hair.

Emma caught the inner battle waging on Regina’s face and realized the woman didn’t have an issue with awkward silence. That or her thoughts were utterly captivating. Her fixation on the sheriff’s shoulder was clearly not a result of a wrinkled, wash worn shirt. Regina was totally unaware of Emma’s presence.

Taking in the parking lot with a hesitant eye, Emma cleared her throat. Brown eyes flicked up to hers and widened as if startled by the sound. Then they narrowed, just enough to give Emma the impression that she interrupted some very important thought process.

“How has the kid been?” Emma asked, smile wry and harmless. “Adjusting to a new society, I mean.”

Apparently, the sheriff’s intentions were innocent and considerate. This time.

Regina responded, “I’ll let you know when it has been 24 hours.”

“You’ve been counting? That’s impressive.”

“I’d ask my mother to tone down the crazy but that might be asking too much.”

“For Cora it would be asking too much,” Emma granted with a chuckle. “It’s why I love Cora. Hell, it’s why everyone loves Cora. How can they not?”

Emma stuffed her hands in her pockets and shrugged. The informality of the move made Regina feel like she was in the presence of an average citizen rather than the sheriff. Still, that did not explain why she felt an onrush of nerves around Emma. _No_ one brought that kind of anxiety out of Regina.

“Yes,” Regina stated testily, “how can they not?”

“Regina,” Cora popped her head out the driver’s side window, “I have to feed the chickens.”

Regina grimaced to her mother’s whining. The fact that she had two children under her purview now was about as thrilling as bailing her mother out of jail.

Pulling her purse through her arm and over her shoulder, Regina made to turn. It only took seconds for her to move on mentally, but physically she stayed put. With Emma caught on her elbow there wasn’t anywhere _to_ go.

“Wait.”

A questioning glance spurred Regina to be released, gently if not regretfully.

“Is there something more to discuss regarding my mother? I’m certain I filled out all necessary paperwork for her release.”

“No, it’s not about your mom. At least, not really.” The hand used to stall Regina flexed at her side, seemingly refusing to make contact to anything or anyone. “I owe you an apology for my behavior the night of the party. I may have been a little overzealous in my intentions.”

The tremulous unease in Regina’s chest returned. “Intentions?”

At the sign of raised hackles Emma backpedaled. “It’s nothing malicious,” she assured, raising her hands up. “I know better than to get on a litigator’s bad side.”

Regina crossed her arms and tapped her arm with the point of her finger. “Go on.”

“Well, I mean, it’s probably a good idea to judge a person based on their own personal experience with said person. I may know you through Cora but I can’t let that get in the way of first impressions. It wouldn’t be fair to you. And we’d miss out on all those awkward ice breaker moments which I find quintessential to every blossoming friendship.”

Solidifying her usual austerity was becoming a challenge around this woman. Regina bit the inside of her cheek. “What makes you think we’d be friends?”

“Foremost, because you’re _so_ approachable. And secondly, I’ve never met anyone who can step on my foot and make such a warm exit in one night.”

“You’re being sarcastic.”

“Am I?”

“I don’t like sarcasm.”

“Okay, check. What else don’t you like?”

“This is not the way to get to know me. There is a… procedure.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Emma said, snapping her fingers. “There has to be a food element. _Always_. Want to grab coffee and a bagel?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Alone.”

“Oh, I see what you did there.”

This time Regina didn’t hold back the smirk. She couldn’t determine why. Letting her expressions fall where they may just felt nature when Emma was near. Holding a smile, a grimace, a frown, or a laugh at bay seemed so exhausting. If only she could put up more of a fight. If only the heart of her chest didn’t bound so giddily whenever those blonde curls were in view. No, that was nerves. Simple, angered nerves. An annoyance, nothing more.

But then… when had she been faced with an infuriating plaintiff or a client whose insensitive, motor mouth almost always found them in contempt? It seemed like forever since she got stuck with one of those. That’s what she called a pleasant challenge. Those were the good old days. And here Emma stood, clearly fitting the bill of both plaintiff and client. But without the lawsuit.

“That’s great.”

Regina blinked, prematurely ripped from a dilemma. “Pardon?”

“You have a smile.” Despite the neutrality with which Emma said it, her eyes fluttered bashfully in the sunlight. “It looks great on you.”

The smile thus wiped from her face like it resembled a bad habit, Regina bid a stiff, “Good day, Sheriff Swan.”

Emma smirked, shaking her head as she retreated. “Hell of a good day.”

* * *

Regina and Cora remained quiet on the ride home. The distance stretched between them, perhaps more so now than when Regina lived in New York. Somehow they could still manage to stew in awkward silence together as they had for most of Regina’s adult life apart.

This silence had always been a constant before and after a Mills family argument. Regina knew to pace herself due to the ferocious nature of their fighting. While Cora took a laidback approach, her daughter was prone to growling and citing all the ways Cora scarred her childhood. The rides in the car, the separate bedrooms where they cooled off, the lakeside where one would escape to for clarity… these moments were like the calm before the proverbial storm. The only stretch of silence longer than this car ride was the stretch of years Regina refused to speak to Cora.

The Mercedes pulled up to the house. Regina jammed it into park and exited the car like it was a disease. Her heart hammered in her chest, threatening to leap out of it. She couldn’t take this. She hadn’t been here 24 hours and her mother already found a way to drag her through her troubles. Regina was starting to feel the pull of the dead weight that was Cora hauling her back down to this unfortunate situation. If there was a mother/daughter version of a ball and chain, Regina knew exactly how tight that shackle felt around her ankle.

I left this life 23 years ago, Regina thought. Why in the hell was she back here of all places?

She stormed ahead to the porch, not looking back to ensure her mother followed.

Cora trailed in dutiful silence. She knew better than to speak to Regina when she was mute, deadly, and pacing.

“Do we need to have a discussion about your behavior today?” Regina pulled up short of the porch steps and whirled on her mother. The challenge in her smoldering eyes dared Cora to waste her time.

“I should be asking you that. Your sending me away to the car like I was some child was deplorable. I raised you to treat your elders with more respect.”

“And when they break the law and continue to whine about it being a just cause, do they still deserve that respect? Hm?”

“When the cause is standing up for victims of arbitrary war,“ Cora’s chin tilted up, “yes. At least Henry thinks so. Talk about a teenager with a good head on his shoulders…”

“That was a brilliant example you set for your grandson. He could have gotten arrested or hurt, all in the name of Cora Mills. Henry is a good boy who was misled by your idiot ideals into trying to please you.”

“I did him a favor! He should be exposed to important causes just like I exposed those important causes to you at his age. And like you tell me so often, it was those rallies that convinced you to pursue a law degree. You should be thanking me, young lady.”

“Oh, please, Mother. If you pushed me into anything it was moving out of this god forsaken town.”

“That wasn’t my intention. I always wanted my little girl here. I would have accepted you forever!”

Regina knew where Cora was taking the conversation. So predictable: her mother, the bleeding heart. Regina clenched her jaw in preparation to steer them back to why they were there in the first place.

“You want to get to know your grandson? Fine. But I swear to god, Mother, if I see him at another anti-war rally or smell something even remotely associated with grass than you will have blown it. I am trying to do what is best for my son. I strongly urge you to respect my intentions. Do not conform Henry into a mini you.”

Before Regina could bring her speech to a close Cora already had her arms enveloping her in a hug.

“What’s this? What’s happening?”

“It’s a hug, Regina.”

Regina had already felt constricted beyond belief upon setting eyes on her childhood home, but now things were getting a little suffocating. Literally.

“Mother, I cannot breathe.”

“Oh, neither can I. Isn’t it great? All that prickly emotion? _Feel_ the love. Don’t push it away. _Embrace_ it.”

This was the ferocity of Cora’s fighting. And was it ever effective in subduing Regina.


	3. Chapter 3

When Regina woke up the next morning to find the house empty she found it a bit strange. Henry had never been an early riser; it usually took a full-scale, high protein breakfast to coax him out of bed. With very little meat in the house and not a single chicken ready to lay there didn’t seem much of a reason for Henry to get an early start to his Sunday.

And Cora… god only knew what that woman did at the crack of dawn. Regina wasn’t keen on getting _that_ memo, but as she made her way out to the porch fate had other plans.

Tying the sash on her robe, Regina shielded her eyes from the rays of a golden morning. At eight in the morning the temperature was just cool enough to slip through her robe and raise the skin under her pajamas. Suppressing a shiver, Regina lifted the mug of tea to her lips. The hot liquid may have scalded her tongue but it succeeded in transferring a lazy warmth to the fingers cupped around the ceramic mug.

A large, white painted shed came into view when she unshielded the sun from her eyes. Curiosity getting the best of her, Regina decided to approach and see what her mother was up to this early in the morning.

Cora’s shed contained all her "in progress" art projects which lied around forgotten. It was typical for her to pick up a new fad, work on it intensely for a few weeks before moving on to the next obsession. The only hobbies she’d ever picked up and stuck with were painting and a proclivity to embarrass her daughter.

The chickens clucked within their fenced habitat as Regina padded by in her slippers. With a heaving pull, she slid open the shed door, its rusty metal gears scraping along the frame.

Regina’s eyes widened. Apparently her mother had kept busy since she’d been away. Inside, light streamed through the windows, hitting oblique pieces of wood, metal, and ceramic. Regina moved cautiously amongst knotted, twisting rods of steal and spear-like blown glass. Not many understood Cora’s perspective on art. They tended toward the ambiguous, and yet her broad, eccentric interests were probably why she was so well liked.

The lack of cobwebs and dust proved how meticulous Cora preserved and maintained her projects. The shed may be cluttered but at least it was clean.

Regina paused at a line of paintings, hand venturing out to touch the canvas. Depositing her mug on one of the stools, she used both her hands to run along the edges of one of the paintings. It was a portrait of a young woman. The corner of her mouth curved up into an expression of timid gratitude. These paintings happened to be the only obsession Regina excused. If her mother was a below average painter she’d feel differently, but whenever she beheld Cora’s work on canvas Regina couldn’t explain it, she felt like a child again. She felt like Mother would take care of everything. She was safe.

Moving on through the cavernous shed, Regina began to hear voices. She followed them to the far side of the structure and through a sheer white curtain.

The first thing her eyes met was her mother’s back. Cora sat primly on a stool, brush in hand and poised near an unfinished painting. The canvas, lavished in revealing hues of orange and yellow, rested on its easel and looked every bit the accomplice.

When Regina’s brain filled in the gaps of the incomplete form she gasped.

This was not one of the portraits that made Regina experience a sensation of childlike security. If she felt anything like her juvenile self it was the instinct to clap a hand over her gasp, as if that kept her invisible.

“Regina, darling, if I had known you were observing my session today I would have prepared a good view.”

At the risk of scalding cheeks, Regina kept her eye line to the ceiling and away from the gentleman’s privates.

“I don’t know why I am surprised,” Regina muttered. “It’s not like this is the first time I barged in on one of your shameless escapades.”

“Oh, Regina,” Cora sighed, cocking her head to the side. “Don’t be such a prude. Pablo doesn’t mind an audience. Isn’t that right, Pablo?”

“Sí. No problem.”

The thick, Spanish accent caused a momentary lapse in composure, coaxing Regina’s eyes to flick down at the handsome smile and short, dark wavy hair. Damn it. Eyes up.

“The nude form is aesthetically pleasing to the eye and proved by the body’s response.” Cora peeked at the model from behind her canvas. “How does my response look, dear?”

His eyes narrowed, chin upturned as he responded with a smooth, “Effectively aroused.”

Regina shut her eyes and half-gagged, half muttered, “Oh my god.”

“I think now’s a good time for a break.” Cora laid down her brush and clapped her hands together. “Excellent work today, Pablo. If you would please give me a moment with my daughter.”

Wordlessly, the tall, dark muse stood from his reclined position on the divan, plucked up a silk robe, and slid it on like butter on bread (or so Cora liked to imagine). He gave Cora a kiss to her cheek and passed Regina with a wink.

When the sound of the shed door closing echoed through the cavernous space, Regina sauntered ahead and started a slow, meticulous examination of Cora’s ‘nude room.’

“Seducing the pool boy again, Mother?”

“Well, if we had a pool boy I’d be painting with watercolors now wouldn’t I?” Cora’s laughter went unhindered by Regina’s dour stare. “Lighten up, child. At least I’m not setting you two up. You never did appreciate all those beaus I introduced to you with the muscles and the square jaw lines. It took ages for you to finally admit it. I threw a celebration, remember?”

“How can I forget?” Regina intoned dryly. Memories of rainbow streamers and sparklers, a giant layer cake, Joan Jett tunes, and attendees of a large female population came flooding back like a cancer. “I’m sure you could set me up with worse than Pablo the Matador,” Regina said, only half-kidding.

Cora gasped. “Regina, that’s typecasting. Although… yes he does consider himself the occasional _terero_. He’s in Woodstock for the summer, so I’d imagine he will return to his bullfighting career in Europe.”

“Europe?” Regina raised her eyebrows, nodding impressed. “Lucky him.” Again, she took in Cora’s private gallery with disappointment. What a misplacement of potential. “But really, is this how you spend your time? Why don’t you find higher bidders for your paintings? The money you make now is barely enough to live on. I’ve told you countless times, Mother, that I have connections with various galleries. The city is just a few miles away.”

“People don’t appreciate my art like they do here. All those uncultured, hedge fund sons of Wall Street want something grand and obnoxious on their penthouse walls.” Cora tipped her head pleadingly. “I don’t sell my work by the yard, Regina.”

“Well, maybe you should. Haven’t you heard? Change is good for the soul.”

A hot sigh escaped between Cora’s teeth. Her grip on patience slipped. “What do you want me to say, Regina? How would you like me to act? Because it seems like you are the expert on how I should and should not behave. You know, having a law degree does not give you the wherewithal to boss me around. And I am not the only victim.”

“If you mean Henry then I will stop you right there. As I told you yesterday, he is a good boy who fell into a momentary lapse of delinquency. As his mother I have the right –“

“No, not Henry.” Cora’s head shook in annoyance. “ _Emma_ ,” she corrected emphatically.

“What about her?”

“Every time she tries to make you feel welcome you shut her down.”

“That is because she is a socially inept _girl_ who trips over her own apologies.”

“Save it for the mirror, Regina. We both know how adept you are at retaining a personal life. You may be able to seduce a husband, but when it comes to marrying a friend… I’m sorry, my love, but you missed the boat there.”

“You talk about how little respect I have for you, but you never gave an inch to the man I married. He was never enough for you.”

“But he was for you?” Cora’s head threw her head back to cackle. Children loved to think their parents knew so little about them, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. “You are beating the wrong dead horse, dear. This isn’t about me.”

“It has everything to do with you!” Regina shouted, tears pooling in her eyes. She ran a hand through her hair roughly, stomped away, and then turned. Her face held chaos, barely restrained. “Why else would I come back after all these years?”

Cora paused, tilted her head to the side, and shot a sidelong glance. She took the time to really study her daughter, the unshed tears, the naked finger that had long since developed a tan. “Where is he?”

Regina’s breath hitched. She swallowed. “Gone.”

“And… are we happy about that?”

“Of course not. He’s the father of my child and he just gave up.”

Anger, Cora detected. Not sorrow. “Henry wasn’t the only one he left.”

“I shouldn’t have wished him away,” Regina growled at the nearest jar of paint. She was so consumed by her emotions that she forgot her mother’s presence entirely. “I couldn’t stand our house, even our god damned closet. It made me furious and I wanted him gone. It didn’t matter how my son felt about it. I was selfish and I wanted his father out.”

“Did he put up a fight?”

Regina’s head jerked up. “Who?” she asked, dreading one name over the other.

“Whom do you think?” Cora’s eyes softened as her daughter’s shoulders sagged tragically. “I haven’t spent much time with him, but from what I’ve seen he seems like a very bright boy. It’s clear which side he gets it from.” She smirked, tossing back her frizzy hair. Regina gave a soft, amused snort which only warmed Cora’s heart more. It seemed ages since she’d spark genuine humor in her daughter. “When you left home to attend college in New York you adapted so well. It hurt me that you flourished so easily there. Every parent wants to inspire their children, yet you seemed set on making your success elsewhere. And look at you now.” Cora spread her hands out. “You’re beautiful, wealthy, respected, and have a son that thinks more of you than you do of me.”

“Mother…”

“So if Henry is anything like you he will adapt to this. If you raised him half as well as I raised you then he will blossom into the responsible, well-adjusted adult I see before me. His father left, yes. That does not mean you have to wallow in a sea of guilt. Get out. Enjoy the sunny weather. And for god’s sake, Regina, make some mistakes!”

Regina was shooed away before she could even get a word in. Still in shock from her mother’s rare display of confidence and parental wisdom, Regina managed to exit the shed on autopilot without breaking anything on her way out.

She walked back into the house, ignoring the mislaid chicken making circles in the living room. A hush fell on the place, quiet and tranquil enough to leave Regina alone with her thoughts. The advice her mother gave festered at the back of her mind when she showered, after she changed, and continued to pester her all through her morning work routine. She checked her e-mails, called her associates to be appraised of the status of their lawsuit, answered idiotic queries from her interns, and by the time she wrapped it all up a sudden rumble emanated from her stomach.

Dreading her limited options, Regina trudged to the kitchen. The tapping from behind alerted her to the calico colored chicken and she gave a start.

“Damn it!” she breathed. She placed a hand over her petrified heart.

The chicken’s head swiveled sideways at Regina before it went back to pecking its beak on the linoleum.

It was almost the last straw, but not quite. Waking to an empty, moth infested shack… stumbling in on a nude sitting and subsequently getting told by her mother to ‘let loose’… a rooster knocking two years off her life…

She couldn’t take much more of this. Being holed up in this house with so many unsavory memories was not her idea of a ‘life pause.’ One more crimp in her evolving reality and that was the last straw.

The watery coffee and stale cereal happened to be the deal breaker. She wanted out. She needed it like she needed air to breathe.

Before she could come to her senses, Regina picked up her phone and dialed.

“Yes, this is Regina Mills. I stopped by yesterday to pick up my – Yes, I’m sure you do. Yes, it is a good morning. Before you cut in again I’d like to ask…” Regina swallowed over the dryness in her throat. She cocked her head, eyes soaring up to wince, and twirling her hand in irregular rotations. “Do you know where I might be able to get a palatable cup of coffee?”

* * *

Henry met Woodstock’s local magazine vandalizer at the café that morning. Upon his not-so-subtle sneaking in the library, she removed her shoes from the couch, allowing him to sit. She introduced herself as “Jordan” and before he knew it they were exchanging phone numbers.

And Henry was right. This girl was gorgeous, not to mention of an appropriate age to be seen hanging out with. Much to his relief, Jordan got most of the awkward questions out of the way. She attended Woodstock High and couldn’t wait to graduate and support herself in every way. She loved reading obscure, mostly foreign authors and hated ostentatious ‘mo-fos’ who wore their existential complex on their t-shirts (see: Nietzsche headshots and “Why am I here?”). In her free time extracurricular sports and television were passed up for endless delegation as editor of the school newspaper. Her favorite food is coffee and her least favorite are churros. Her go-to playlist is Portishead.

Henry concluded that Jordan was intelligent, independent, a tad pretentious but aware of it, and had zero tolerance for BS. All of the above happened to be fine by him, as long as she never changed her hair color or stopped smiling like she was now.

“How can you hate churros?” Henry asked for the fifth time. “They’re like covered in sugar and cinnamon!”

“The center is all doughy and ick. No, just no.”

He gave up with a roll of his eyes.

Halfway through their second helping of lattes, Henry and Jordan began to slide into that comfortable camaraderie associated with friends who felt accustomed to one another. It didn’t take long to realize they had natural chemistry.

Sitting across from each other at a table near the window, Henry’s eyes wandered to the bench on the opposite street. He nearly fell out of his chair at what he saw. In fact, his near collapse was more a result of trying to hide than for reasons of shock.

Jordan stared with a hint of concern. “You alright?”

Henry jerked upright in his chair. “Huhyeahfine!”

“What’s gotten you all hot and bothered?” she asked slowly, leaning forward to catch a glimpse out the window.

“Hot and…? No, not in the slightest.” Henry shook his head fervently. “That’s just my, ah… my mom.”

“With another woman.”

“Why is your voice being weird?” He made a second study of the bench and his mom and the blonde girl drinking coffee and chewing on… were those bagels? He shook his head again and swore he felt his brain cells rattling. “I’m just surprised my mom is actually out of the house. I hardly ever see her interacting with people. She’s either working or making excuses.”

“And that the other woman keeps looking at her mouth isn’t noteworthy to you?”

“You can actually see that?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “I have the eyes of Superman.”

“Who is she?”

“Emma. She’s the sheriff.”

“My mom, the hotshot city litigator, is sharing breakfast with a small town sheriff? She doesn’t even have an ounce of respect for municipal law enforcement. She says all they get paid to do is sit on their asses and polish off bakery, or so I overhead.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Jordan said, arms raised.

Henry looked at the scene again, this time his eyes widening to saucers. He’s unsure whether he’s witnessed his mom smiling. It didn’t happen often and when it did her motives lied with him and his happiness. But to smile for her own happiness? What a rarity. It begged a slew of questions. Was this Sheriff Emma the reason for the uncommon display? Could she be friends with his mom? If so, would Emma walk out on her like his dad did?

Jordan watched the range of emotions ripple through Henry’s face. They were all uncertain and seeming to cause a swiftly forming migraine underneath those furrowed brows. “You look like this is a problem. I don’t understand. How can your mom smiling be a problem?”

“ _Does_ she look happy?” Henry inquired. He peered at the scene, his curiosity mounting. “I don’t know what that looks like.”

Jordan leaned back with a chortle. “Henry, use your eyes. She’s laughing. That’s what people do when their happy.” Her own laughter ebbing, she fluttered her eyes.

Doubt clouded him like a halo as he scrunched his face closer to the window. “I don’t know…”

She sighed, failing to snag his attention.

Henry couldn’t rationalize it. He had never seen his mom with anyone but his dad, and even that turned out to breed disastrous consequences for everyone involved. It would be easy to say they never should have been together in the first place. So much had broken as a result: dreams, expectations, dishware, hearts. If he learned anything from them it was that marriage took two people to keep it afloat. His mom was just as much to blame as his dad. Henry could handle being around them, but he dreaded seeing these so-called ‘lovers’ in the same room. He hated the arguments just as he hated the subsequent make-ups. It always came full circle in pieces on the floor. Henry seemed to be the only one who understood that. His dad always ended up sleeping on the couch, his overworked mother foregoing sleep entirely, and their son who watched it all play out with pity.

So yeah, he could admit that his parents would have made a vastly better husband and wife to anyone other than each other, but then that would make the birth of their son null and void and Henry liked existing thank you very much.

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Henry asked after giving up on translating his mom’s and her… friend’s body language.

“Stuff? You mean relationships? I read books.” She shrugged, cocking her head with a timidity Henry found endearing. “Fiction has to come from somewhere. What, did you think our imagination is ignited by elves that steal in the night and sprinkle fairy dust over our heads?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” Jordan drummed her fingers on the table looking awfully confident. “Stuff that happens in books can be just as conceivable in reality. You just have to pay attention to the details.”

The foam on his half-drunk latte started to melt and adhere on the sides of the mug. He stared into it ruefully, knowing he shouldn’t be pondering what he was pondering. Butting into his mom’s love life would be more damaging for his weekly allowance than pestering her about his weekly allowance’s status following the divorce.

“I wonder if they’re an item. I mean, my mom has always been real open about sexuality. Once, she represented these clients who sued the state for not respecting their out-of-state marriage.” Henry shrugged. His mom smiled again and he watched it like it resembled a rare solar eclipse. “It could happen.”

Jordan took a moment to consider. Her head tipped lightly. “It’s not so much romantic as it is significant. Emma seems to be the only person in town your mom will talk to. If I know anything about the sheriff and what little you’ve said of your mom, those two are naturally drawn to each other. I’d imagine they’d have a lot to talk about.” Jordan rested her chin on her hand, gazing out the window and wishing she could be a fly on that bench.

“So you’re saying _that_ ,” Henry pointed in the direction Jordan was fixated, “is a result of common interests? What aren’t you telling me?”

“People see what they want to see. You’re going to be a child of divorce and maybe you feel responsible for your parent’s finding happiness. Think about it; Emma is probably the first person you’ve seen your mom socialize with and not file a lawsuit against. Your mom dating Emma… Maybe that’s wishful thinking on your part. That’s not to say there isn’t a spark there.” Jordan upheld it with a nod to the women sitting on the bench. Their hands laid in such proximity to each other they should have been touching, not because of the magnetism of desire but because of simple gravity. “As you said, your parents weren’t exactly made for each other.”

“When did I say that?”

“You told me when we met. Actually, it was one of the first things you screamed at me.”

Henry’s heart hammered in his chest. He had to keep his hand from clutching it. “You remember that?” It wasn’t so much the intel she drudged up that alarmed him but the overzealous way he went about introducing himself that day in the library. Shouting at a lady… Mom would be devastated if she found out.

“Uh-oh,” Jordon murmured, smiling into her coffee mug. “I better stop being my awesome self before you turn into an overcooked lobster.”

Blushing from neck to hairline, Henry’s response was halfway between a stutter and a whimper. “E-eh… ha.” So he laughed it off.

Suave Henry. Real suave.

Jordan shook her head, turning it where her blush wouldn’t set off another series of stammers, however adorable they were.

They continued to sit across from each other, the steam on their coffees whispering off as they snuck glances between the bench sideshow and their own overheated faces. Then Henry reached behind to procure the cell phone from his back pocket and raised it to eye level.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

His eyes squinted through the window so he could line up the shot. “Documenting the evidence.” His thump hovered over the circular button that would do just that. The camera gave an indicative snap-whir as it caught Regina in a most compromising position. “I might not believe this later.”

* * *

“What did it take for you to accept my offer?”

“Bitter associates and stalled proceedings.”

“Wow. That sounds vague.” Emma narrowed her eyes. “Is that all?”

Taking a seat on the other side of the bench, Regina took the proffered cup. Instead of sampling its palatability she stared down at it. She pursed her lips in thought. “… I suppose I don’t know anyone else. Since my return no one else has pursued me quite in this way.”

“Hey, at least you get food out of it.”

“There’s that,” Regina gave with a subtle tip of her head. She hid her pleasure around the lip of her _very_ tasteful coffee as she sipped. The café across the street boasted fresh daily bakery and handcrafted beverages. It was also known for its neighborhood friendly environment complete with wireless internet, but Regina felt content where she sat. “Is this your lunch break?”

“Yup,” Emma answered before taking a gulp from her coffee cup.

“How long do we have?”

Blonde locks dragging over one shoulder, Emma leaned in to coo, “Aw, are you worried we won’t have enough time? Or do you want to prepare to cut and run before I start asking the deep, personal questions?”

“I, uh…”

“Kidding.”

This just seemed to frustrate Regina further. “Your tact is _not_ showing today.”

“Sorry. I forgot to put on my electric insensitivity collar. I’m sure the shock of a couple volts to my neck would greatly amuse you.”

Regina cracked a smile around her coffee. “Perhaps.”

“But you gotta admit it was a little funny.”

Regina gave a flip of her hair and devoted her gaze elsewhere.

“Ouch,” the sheriff muttered. But then like most things the offense rolled right off her. It’s what made her unique, people told her. Emma was pretty sure it’s what annoyed Regina. She chuckled quietly to her personal triumph.

“I have to be back at the station in a half hour. What little staff at my disposal is expecting me to walk them by the hand from noon till six…”

Emma dragged off with a grumble. She glanced up at Regina and it occurred to her that this lunch break promised relief for reasons more than one. The realization hit her not for the first time that day. In fact, it occurred to her so many times her head began to spin. In a good way.

“You look a bit young to be the only law authority.”

“How old do you think I am?” Emma asked, feigning offense. She shrugged then, taking pride in divulging the rest. “I’m 35 in a town of people who don’t much care about the real world order of things. After all, it doesn’t take a PhD to earn a badge.”

“Perhaps not, but it might help.”

Emma chuckled. “Take a look around, Mrs. Mills. Just what is it you see that calls for an advanced degree? There’s not much to police here in Woodstock. As the locals say, we’re low on crime, high on –“

“I get the picture,” Regina interrupted, her hand slicing the proverbial air of LSD.

“I was going to say ‘love’ but whatever. Anyway, I’m not what you would call a born and bred Woodstockian. I relocated here from New York where I attended university for –“

“You went to college?”

“Hang on to your eyebrows.” Emma’s teeth showed brightly with the smile. “Yeah, I went to college. I studied journalism for a while. Then… I don’t know. I guess it didn’t take.”

“What didn’t take?”

“The scene, you know? The conformity… the city… _professors_ …”

“I don’t mean to sound so shocked,” Regina said, grimacing to her own preconceived notions. “I just assume the hiring procedure for small town law enforcement has –“

“Low standards?”

“Has a more… off-the-cuff process.”

“Well, you’re not entirely misled. It depends on which town you’re talking about. In Woodstock’s case there’s not much of a process. It’s far less rigid than, say, a New York precinct. Hell, my college cracked the whip more times than I can count.”

“It’s all part of the experience. The conformity and the professors, I mean.” Regina’s skin crawled at the memory of her own experience on campus. “If it wasn’t challenging everyone would be doing it.”

“It’s not that. I can do challenging. College isn’t for everyone. It wasn’t me, so I dropped out and roamed around New York until I felt alienated enough to travel north.”

“To Woodstock.”

“It’s the perfect sleepy little town to settle down. Even at that age I could have used some roots.”

“I’d hardly call this place sleepy.”

“Oh, you mean with Cora’s late night ritual dances? The celebrations to the moon goddess?” Emma laugh carried all the way to the sky. “Well, every town has got to have their spiritualist. Or several in this case.”

Regina looked closer at Emma without really doing so outwardly. From a safe distance, arms crossed and supposedly aloof, she narrowed her eyes keenly at the woman. Her own mother would say she was looking keenly into the woman’s soul, but the only difference is semantics.

The way Emma spoke of her past, the challenges, her disinclination with university life, it seemed so obvious. But the way she carried herself – the laughing, the smiles, her mindful proximity to Regina – could be construed as a coping technique for the more dormant scars.

Regina licked the coffee from her lips, studying Emma from beneath her lashes. Her eyes glazed from matted blonde strands, over a shoulder, and down her pale, muscular forearm to the flower tattoo. “How did you go from journalism to law enforcement?”

“They’re not completely unlike. Their ultimate purpose is to uncover corruption. They just approach it in different ways. With the waves of injustice and crime these days god knows we need the expertise of both. As far as who I have more respect for… journalism just isn’t what it used to be, or so my professors claimed. I mean, I took a course called ‘The Death of Journalism.’ There’s nothing cheerful about it, believe me. So I don’t know, I guess my disillusionment with that sort of led me to police work. It seemed to have more integrity. That’s not to say I was always a by-the-book kid. It took a lot of growing up for me to realize not all officers of the law discriminate first, interrogate later. The cops and I didn’t get along so well in my more rebellious teenage years.”

“I would never have thought with you becoming a sheriff and all,” Regina said, a bit perturbed at the stunted pieces of personal history she was receiving about the blonde. Emma treaded carefully and for whatever reason she was not letting on why. “How on earth did that come about?”

“I took a crash course in criminal justice.” Emma inclined her head with a sly grin. “I also watched some _Law and Order_ reruns.”

It had been a long time since anyone had made Regina laugh, and it felt good. Her heart beat and she could actually feel it tumbling end over end in situ. All that energy ratcheting in her chest allowed heat to surface to her now ruddy cheeks. All that blood rushing, her throat vibrating from laughter, and her tumbling heart made her a touch woozy.

When she realized how brazenly she let herself go like that an unsettling feeling struck her. This was wrong. So, so wrong. How had she involved herself so with this woman that she allowed to be so unguarded as to laugh? How could it have happened so fast?

Emma’s cheeks colored. She forced herself to glance away from Regina’s radiance and close off her ears to what she’d call (on a sober day like today) pure, unadulterated laughter. She couldn’t think of it getting any more inappropriate than that on any other day because this was Cora’s daughter she was looking at, not to mention _blushing_ at.

So Emma diverted her glorifying through the bench slats to the ground, and didn’t mention the fact that in addition to the _Law and Order_ marathons there may have been a few episodes of _The X-Files_ sneaked in there (for detective research, of course). But no, Regina the ‘city girl’ didn’t need to meet another ‘cracked up’ citizen of Woodstock any more than she needed to shave her head and join a monastery.

When they struck up conversation again Emma carefully diverted talk away from herself. During the time it took them to finish their breakfast they spoke of Woodstock, its citizens and festivals, the unfortunate arrests of out-of-hand protestors, and how it hadn’t changed a bit since Regina left.

“I suppose your evil plan worked.” At Regina’s frown the sheriff explained, “You’ve filled our entire 30 minutes with a discussion on me and the town. We’ll have to schedule another time to meet so I can have a turn to drill you for information.” Emma stood from the bench, dropped her empty cup in the trash, and shrugged. “It’s only fair.”

“Since when do you make demands about the course of our…”

“Friendship? Since I’m the one who’s made sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices? You want to talk about sacrifices? I gave up thirty precious minutes of my morning to meet you. I could have been working on my case!”

“Yeah, that should be one of the points you discuss next time.”

“What did you sacrifice?”

“Huh?”

“You said you are the one who has made sacrifices. What sacrifices?”

Emma’s eyes looked to the sky, her mouth twisting in thought. Yikes, was she backed into a corner. When she claimed that her break lasted a half hour she might have been thirty minutes too generous. Truthfully, the sheriff wasn’t allotted a lunch break on Sundays. Instead she had to slam down a meager snack before leading a weekly conference with all the other Woodstock community departments. It seemed a bit unfair that the sheriff had to be on call on a Sunday while the rest of the department heads were only intended to show up for a half hour summit. Canceling the meeting for a coffee run wasn’t one of Emma’s finest moments as sheriff, but the company she sacrificed for was worth the backlash.

“What sacrifices, Sheriff?”

Emma’s honesty was sufficient in most circumstances, but she wasn’t keen on demonstrating that particular trait today.

“Eh,” she shrugged like the reason was of no consequence, “it’s no big deal. Point is, you need a reason to get out of that house and breathe some fresh air. What’s the harm in spending that time with coffee, a bagel, and your friendly neighborhood sheriff? Who else are you going to get into trouble with?” Emma smirked, gesturing to an old man bent over his walker and making short strides along the sidewalk. “Aldous doesn’t seem willing to jump at the opportunity.”

“Well, maybe if I introduced myself and he carried himself with more manners than you…”

“Manners?” Emma’s face went into contortions. “What’s wrong with my manners?”

“They are making me feel sorry for even making an effort. You know, your misplaced perseverance isn’t the only reason why I asked to join you here today. If anyone is responsible it is my mother.”

“What does Cora have to do with this?”

“Nothing,” Regina said, not having the courage to put the woman down any further. She could dig a deeper hole even without her constant need to make assumptions from nothing. Blaming it on the lawyer part of her was starting to lose credit.

“Look,” Emma began simply, hand gesturing to break the silence, “I may not be an expert on mother/daughter relationships and I sure as hell don’t claim to understand the deadlock between you and Cora, but you are an adult. If Cora put you up to this you could have said no. If you don’t want to see me again, then don’t. I’m an adult too. I can take it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Regina closed her eyes and gave a shake of her head. “I don’t know what I meant.”

“… O-kay.”

“Can we just forget the last five minutes? I don’t want to leave things like this.”

God, why on earth did she just say that? Regina grimaced. Why did she feel so guilty? Why did she feel so much? Why couldn’t she just stay at the house today and work like she always did on Sundays? Emma just had to be difficult. She just had to be more challenging, more infuriating, and more mysterious than expected.

“It’s fine. I have a thicker skin than you might think, Mrs. Mills.”

Regina’s next grimace made her look sickly. “I’d rather you not call me that.”

“Oh. It’s just, I thought you were –“

“Soon-to-be-divorced. I retain my maiden name for professional reasons. Ms. Mills is fine. Or I suppose ‘Regina’ if you…” Her hand floundered and her tongue tied around just how she wanted to finish that sentence.

“Yeah.” Emma smiled and forgot to wince at how quickly she complied. “Yeah, that’s good,” she offered her hand and it was received warmly, “Regina.”

They didn’t shake hands. Instead they allowed a moment for their palms to meet, their thumbs to give a subtle brush. Nothing was meant by it, nor did they intend it to be of any consequence to their possible friendship, however, both knew the value of contact. It acted as a true first impression where a pulse couldn’t lie and a blush couldn’t always be blamed on the heat. It could betray and convince and found feeling where none was before. Contact like a mere embrace of hands could also unravel defenses in the blink of an eye.

Emma turned Regina’s hand up as if she made to lay a kiss on the back of her smooth skin. Regardless of her intentions, Regina’s eyes widened and she jerked back. Emma watched the hand slip from hers and nodded to the ground as if to assure Regina that ‘Hey, I’m not offended or anything,’ even though it meant to assure herself.

“I should go,” Regina claimed, eyes darted everywhere but Emma. “Thank you for the coffee and the breakfast.” Emma nodded again to the ground. The show of restraint was what finally gave Regina the courage to dip her head and find those impossibly shield stripping eyes. “I’m grateful that you would spend your break with me, Emma.”

Green eyes flicked up to the genuineness staring back at her. Emma’s smile came slow, unsure of the softness in Regina. It looked new. It felt new. But it made her feel inexplicably sad all the same. At the back of her mind she heard a car door slam shut and wheels spinning on gravel.


	4. Chapter 4

Monday afternoon brought rain slick pavement, muddy ditches, and five unhappy chickens. The Mills’ camped indoors where it was dry and mostly warm. For most of the morning Henry helped his grandmother slip buckets under fragile areas in the roof. Reading paperwork on the living room sofa, Regina tried to tune out the drip-drip-drip of nature’s wrath and the clucks of five dry feathered chickens moseying around her feet. Ten seconds later she had had enough and shut her reading closed.

Henry got one hand on the latch before he got stopped by sharp, always purposeful footsteps.

“Where are you going?” Regina asked, walking to the breakfast bar. There were several newspapers scattered about and, upon sorting through them, none of them appeared newsworthy to a corporate careerist like her. Instead, her hand bypassed a homeopathic magazine for the tea kettle. “It’s pouring outside. Do you have some _meeting_ I don’t know about?”

The latch handle snapped back in place, metal scraping metal in that ear splitting kind of squeal. Henry turned. His mouth twitched but failed utterly to match his mother’s smile. His cheeks felt like molten iron, thick and heavy, cast between a frown and a grimace. “I’m off to meet Jordan at the library.”

“Oh, okay. Well, do you need any money?”

“It’s the library, Mom. Books are free.”

“Yes, I know that, dear. I just thought you might want a little something extra for a snack. There’s a café in town that sells those lattes you like.”

“Yeah, I got it.” The flash of hurt on his mother’s face softened him somewhat and he cleared his throat and continued. “I know. Thanks, Mom, but I have some cash.”

Regina’s mouth opened but Henry didn’t get to hear it because of the pattering feet descending the second floor. The narrow staircase creaked obnoxiously under step, causing both mother and son to grimace.

While Henry may be unaccustomed to the groans and shivers of a home that had seen more years he could account for living in the world, Cora knew better than to attribute the old structure of her house to Regina’s glowering.

“Good afternoon, lovelies! What’s shakin’?”

“Henry’s going out to meet a friend,” Regina replied without turning from the counter.

“Oh! A friend?” Cora turned to Henry who was not as adept as his mother in detecting the mischief in the old woman’s voice. She sashayed across the kitchen, arms swaying, without a care in the world except for the unusually quiet Henry. Regina might be able to catch Cora in the act of disruption, but she never was as good in detecting the underlying anxieties of a teenage boy in love. “Unfreeze that face, sprout. We don’t want to scare the girls now, do we?”

Regina rolled her eyes as well as an old, experienced shoulder. Thank god she was a married woman and didn’t have to take this pseudo motherly advice on dating. Well, _technically_ her marriage was over, but not in the formal sense. She’s still wife enough to get out of smiling lessons.

Henry’s frown loosened somewhat. His grandmother had a tendency to do that. “I guess not.”

“Who’s the lucky friend?” Cora asked, brow raised.

“Jordan.”

“They’re meeting at the library,” Regina elaborated for her tongue-tied son. Her eyes hovered over the pages of an organic co-op newsletter as she spoke. “Though why it has to be under these rainy conditions I have no idea.”

Cora gasped brightly, clapping her hands together and pressing them to her chest as if in prayer to the moon goddess. “Jordan? Oh, how wonderful. I can see the both of you.” Her eyes narrowed carefully enough that Henry started shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes… your auras will go nicely together. She’s a good match for you.”

Regina’s smile faded. “Excuse me. ‘She?’”

Henry’s shoulders dropped, frown returning with a vengeance. Leave it to ‘Grandma’ to blow things for him.

Not altogether sure what sprung the tension in the air, Cora panned from the boy to his mother. “Jordan,” she stated. “One of Teri and Joe’s brood. She’s a very nice girl. Very stable, creative, and temperance-minded, and knows how to carry a protest sign like nobody’s business.”

Regina’s eyes grew to such enormous proportion it looked like her eyeballs were going to bulge from their sockets. Her jaw hung open as she sorted out the numerous points necessary to confront. “Henry,” she stated firmly and rose from her stool and planted her hands on her hips, “you failed to mention that this ‘Jordan’ is a girl. Why?”

“Because I knew you would go berserk.”

Cora continued to shift her gaze between the two of them. “Is there a problem?” she asked, her hands outspread.

“Yes, there is a problem. My son nearly left the house to meet some female I’ve never met at a place without adult supervision.”

“Oh,” Cora patted a hand to her chest as she laughed, “Regina, dear. Nuclear weapons are a problem. Racial profiling and discrimination is a problem. This,” she made an obscene shaking gesture with her fist and giggled over Regina’s mortified gasp, “is not a problem.”

“Mother!”

“I’ve seen it before, Mom.”

“What?” Regina didn’t know who to direct her glare at, her smug mother or her misguided son. “Well, you shouldn’t have seen it. Mother, you will not make that gesture in front of Henry.”

Cora shooed the command away with a wave of her hand. “Oh, lighten up, Regina. He is a…” she glanced back at the boy, “you’re thirteen, right?”

“Fourteen,” Henry insisted brightly. He was starting to wonder if this was going in a direction where his grandmother would make up for botching his super-secret plan to hang with Jordan.

“Fourteen!” Cora clapped her hands emphatically as if a difference of a year made all the difference in the world. A smile plastered bright and wide on her face as she returned to Regina. “He is a fourteen-year-old boy who – if that school you put him in offered a proper education – has a good handle on the mechanics of making love. This gesture is… _cursory_ compared to the real thing.”

 _“Mother!_ Henry isn’t old enough for a driver’s license. He should not even be a part of this conversation. _”_

“Please stop saying that. I have told you to call me Cora. ‘Mother’ makes me sound so…”

“Old?” Henry supplied with an air of assistance.

Of course, Cora would never lay a hostile hand on her bloodline for any reason least of all for a crack at her age. Instead she allowed her wise, time-worn hand to come down on his head, ruffle his blown dry locks, and thrust his head to her bosom in a show of warmth.

Cora shook her head, correcting, “So liable. When have I ever made you feel imprisoned in this house, Regina? You had free reign as a child. There’s no need to resort to the stifling limitation of _titles_.” Her mouth twisted as she yacked around the word.

Brushing Cora off like a lost cause, Regina sighed heavily and closed the magazine that hadn’t caught her interest in the first place. “Henry, I will let you have the afternoon to do with as you please.” She wondered if she looked as pained as it felt saying it. As much as she wanted to hold her baby by the hand from birth to whatever end, constant supervision wouldn’t see him through to college, marriage, children, a future Regina knew to be possible for him and lonely for her. “I trust you.”

Henry face opened in shock. Then, like flip of a switch, he caved into squinting suspicion. Who was this woman and what did she do to his mom?

“My only condition is that you return by six.”

“Yes,” Cora explained happily. “I’m throwing a farewell party for you two on your last night in Woodstock.”

Regina nodded gravely which seemed to cheer her son up a bit more. Aversion to social gatherings in general was a common aversion between them and when it came to Cora’s parties they couldn’t dream of leaving Woodstock fast enough. Although, the glassy sheen of regret in their eyes verified the possibility of their leaving things behind they weren’t ready to part from.

“I’d like for you to be around this time,” Regina told him. What she meant to say was more along the lines of ‘I’d like to not be alone this time around.’ He seemed to hear it, if the extra nod was anything to go by.

* * *

“So a lawyer, huh? Know any jokes?”

“Excuse me?”

“ _Jokes_. Lawyer jokes like… What do you call an honest lawyer?” At a bored brow raise the woman concluded, “An oxymoron!”

“No,” Regina commented as if she hadn’t heard. “I’m afraid I do not know any lawyer jokes.”

“That’s too bad.” The woman went back to drinking from her cup and moved on to another group of partygoers.

The verbal stiff arm hardly made a mark on Regina. As the night wore on she was steadily losing the will to feel anything but the buzz from her own stiff drink. She stared down into it as it swirled in her glass, fingers clutching it like a life preserver.

Regina had been making vague conversation with half of Woodstock’s population for the last two hours, and it was grating on her. She had already got into a few arguments with some intellectually imbalanced folks who claimed to know more law than she did. Everyone there seemed to either possess an irrational fear of her and flew from her presence, or spewed the most ridiculous insinuations about lawyers in general. Just disregarding the fact that many lawyers make a career out of protecting human rights activists, the law had gone to great lengths to decriminalize their precious basement gardens in three states. And yet Regina was the bloodsucking lawyer from New York City? Really, how many joints does one have to smoke before total brain function was lost?

Of course Regina had something to say about that and got all litigator on one of their asses. As heated as the debate was and considering that she had to be physically held back by two others, none of these arguments attracted much attention. Cora’s parties were known to be raucous. Sometimes it was expected. Regina would have been perfectly content with a shouting match if it were not for the fact that every one of her opponents spoke from their hearts and not their brains. Emotions were traitorous things. As a lawyer Regina knew how to use them to her advantage. However, in a town which boasted peace and love the scales did not tip in her favor.

Also not in her favor was her son who seemed to be the epicenter of the party. Henry, who rarely brought friends home. Henry, who contracted spontaneous flu-like symptoms at any hint of a class oral presentation. And yet he smiled, carried himself politely, and laughed with ease around the circle of women he had attracted. Ever present at his side stood Cora like a bodyguard escorting her actor charge from one handshake to the next. Henry, cheeks flush with pride, was the unlikely life of the party.

So much for not ditching her in the middle of this unfortunate gathering. At least it would be the last. Tomorrow morning she and Henry would be driving back to the city where their semi-empty house and their new life awaited.

Back to being invisible and refreshingly unapproachable, Regina told herself to take a deep breath and hold on for a little while longer. In the midst of doing so, her eyes darted from person to person for the breath of fresh air she really needed. She searched for Emma Swan.

Regina didn’t know why it was important to find her. They hardly knew each other, so there should have been no reason to seek her out for a word or a goodbye or… anything. What she did know was that this party hadn’t turned out a decent conversationalist, nor pleasant company that actually made her feel good about her job. The one person that had come close to achieving that happened to be the sheriff.

While Emma had her faults and stumbled many a time in the shadow of Regina’s success, Regina had started to feel a bit guilty for being so hard on the woman. Sometimes she let pride get the best of her, drawing attention to her prejudice against those less educated than her.

Emma herself was happy with her achievements even if they paled in comparison to some. And when Regina disagreed Emma had defended herself with integrity. All she had meant in her fumbling, awkward way was that success did not always derive from an Ivy League school, and a penthouse in the city didn’t necessarily equate with contentment. She carried it out not in an argumentative style but in a respectful discourse between two intelligent women. Behavior like that should have been deserving of Regina’s credit.

Though she wouldn’t agree with Emma on all subjects under the sun, she would be the first happy soul to do so (if simply for challenge’s sake). And if Regina were to guess, Emma would welcome the challenge and put up a very good fight in the process. In hindsight Regina could admit to Emma’s sharp wit. She was smart in a tough-on-the-streets kind of way, and showed an interest in the law that Regina admired. And with a smile or a laugh Emma could distract her from reality which was exactly what she needed at the moment.

Without a strategy in place, Regina threw caution to the wind. Mind devoid of any ice breakers or conversation starters, she relied on instincts and the feet navigating her through the party to its destination.

Regina swept the kitchen, the porch, the stairway, and came up with nothing. When her search left the dining room and its cluster of foodies, it finally ended in the living room where a head full of long blonde hair came into view.

The plastic cup in her hand caved to the pressure of her fingers. She saw Emma and her chest grew warm. Regina cleared her throat and approached.

Warm and flushed, her sternum subsequently tightened as her view of the couch broadened to include the pretty young woman sharing the couch. Emma’s arm was laid on the back of the sofa just a hairsbreadth from a hipster in loose blonde dreadlocks.

Pursing her lips, Regina stared daggers at the girl. She looked like Shakira if she were dropped in 1969. The two oblivious blondes lounged close together and chatted, oblivious to the others around them including the woman fuming just a few feet away. Regina watched as the Shakira lookalike hung on Emma’s every word – as in stared at every move of her lips – and barked with laughter at some joke. Probably a lawyer joke. Emma’s eyes sparkled and Regina felt something heavy plummet within her. And then like the scale of justice one part of her plunged while the other bubbled high enough to emit the proverbial steam from her ears.

The other part, betrayal.

Taking up residence in the middle of the living room, Regina stood rigid and frowning. Betrayal… but why?

Emma was doing that thing with her eyes, that thing which made the subject of her gaze feel like the only person in the world, and Regina had to turn her back. She couldn’t bear it and Regina Mills, the smart, capable lawyer, couldn’t come up with a single motive as to why.

God, where the hell was Henry?

The party was in full swing. The crowd of dancers in the living room thickened to a point where Regina had to push her way out. Before she got far a cell phone rang and was answered by a woman. Emma had to raise her voice above the discord in order to hear. By the time Regina scrounged the will to turn the sheriff had the phone to one ear while the other was muffled with her free hand. Regina took it as a small measure of victory to see little miss Shakira sulking on the couch alone.

When Emma ended the call she delivered a few words to her acquaintance before walking out. Regina followed with difficulty. The distance from her current place to the door was blockaded by heavy set and muscular individuals alike. Just her luck.

The cool night breeze washed over Regina’s face as she stepped out onto the porch.

“… doctor is already on site, but I have to be there to delegate. It’s part of being sheriff.”

“Is he hurt real bad?”

Regina’s back stiffened and before she could restrain herself her feet were moving. “Is who hurt?”

Emma and Henry turned, the former jumping slightly to the voice and the latter anxiously responding with worry on his face.

“A dog got caught in some wire fencing.” He gestured to the sheriff. “Emma is going to rescue it.”

“I’m… going to oversee the rescue. I’m no doctor,” she maintained, eyes barely catching Regina’s before they dropped, “or savior.”

“Well, not like in the fairy tales. Everyone knows those aren’t real. But there are plenty of real life heroes!”

“I’d agree with you there,” Emma concurred with a nod. She punched his shoulder lightly. “And there’s a lot of inspiration in the movies nowadays. I hear there’s going to be a Wonder Woman film. I _wonder_ how that will compete with the Superman/Batman one. Wouldn’t you love to see who wins in that fight?”

“Wonder Woman?” Henry exclaimed and in turn jabbed her back. “No way. Batman could totally beat her in a fight! He’s got all those cool gadgets!”

“Yeah, but Wonder Woman has killer good looks.”

Henry laughed with her. “And she does have a magical arsenal.”

Regina’s eyes shifted between them.

“But you know who the best heroes are?” Emma smiled if only at the idea rather than her absent experience of it. “The ones you already have the privilege of knowing.”

“Oh, I know. I’m on pretty familiar terms with my favorite hero.” Henry turned to Regina with a shy grin. “She works really hard and I know she sacrifices a lot to fight injustice and all that…” He ended by digging his shoe between the planks in the porch, if not to give away his blush than to meet the tears in his mother’s eyes, proud and utterly grateful.

Unlike Henry, Emma couldn’t take her eyes off Regina. “I think that’s a pretty commendable choice.”

Their eyes met. A few seconds passed. Emma sucked in a breath just as Regina dipped her chin and swallowed over the three inch knob in her throat.

Henry looked between them. Awkward couldn’t begin to describe it. When his cough didn’t get their attention he spoke up. “So how did the dog get caught in the fence?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but I’ll bet it had something to do with a cat and a grudge.” Emma chuckled along with the Mills’. “But the fence is pretty sharp and he got mangled up in it real good.”

“That’s terrible,” Regina murmured, face falling.

For years Henry had begged his parents for a puppy and met resistance. As much as she would move heaven and earth to make her son happy, his father was allergic and the house they lived in wasn’t pet friendly. Sadly, she couldn’t move heaven, earth, or her husband out of the house, so his hope dwindled a little bit every Christmas. Looking at him now with his devastated, boyish face, she knew how hard Henry would take this even if it wasn’t his pet.

For her son’s sake she asked Emma, “Will he make it?”

“The veterinarian assured me that it doesn’t look too bad. The little guy should be out of there by the time I arrive. Speaking of – I should probably go…”

“Wait!” Henry called, catching her sleeve. “Can I come with?”

“Henry…” Regina admonished.

“But I’ve always wanted to ride in a police car with the sirens on!” At his mom’s quizzical stare he emphasized, “Who doesn’t?”

Emma chuckled, hands on her hips. “Boys will be boys.”

Smirking lightly, Regina hummed in agreement. That warmth she felt earlier spread through her as swift as the first day of rejuvenating spring.

“Can I go?” Suppressing the urge to hop on his feet, Henry pleaded to Emma with mopey eyes. “Please?”

Emma looked at him and grinned softly, envying him in nearly every possible way. When her eyes fell on Regina she felt envious of her too. They were family and they had each other no matter what; through thick and thin, from beginning to end.

“If it’s alright with your mom. It’s just a few blocks away,” she assured Regina. “I’ll make sure he’s home by nine.”

Regina crossed her arms and debated with herself. She panned from the sheriff to her son who bobbed on the balls of his feet. Emma’s asking permission took Regina aback. The only other person she had to debate with about picking up and dropping off Henry was her husband and he rarely gave her the time of day (no pun intended). Oddly, trust never came into consideration. There was something about Emma’s nature that put her at ease; the way she smiled at Henry and treated him like a fourteen-year-old-boy and not the son of a wealthy lawyer.

Exhaling a steady breath Regina complied with the sheriff. “Seat belt, dear,” she shouted after an already sprinting Henry. She exchanged a nod with Emma and they were off.

* * *

“What’s the matter?”

Henry squinted at the dashboard. “The interior looks normal. I was kind of expecting… I don’t know, _Minority Report_.”

“Really? _Minority Report_? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Speak for yourself.” He gave her a crazed look. “This thing has nothing on those hunks of junk in _The Fifth Element.”_

“It’s not like I police a very large population. This is a small town. There’s not much in the department’s budget to cover fancy computers and GPS software.”

“But you have to admit, it would be cool.”

“It would.”

Henry giggled at how fast the sheriff caved and the guilt in her voice as she admitted it.

When they arrived on the scene there wasn’t much of a commotion. Most of the squad cars had moved out and the only professionals to stay behind with the dog and its owner were the veterinarian and an officer. After much persuasion from the puppy eyes, Emma allowed Henry to tag along just as long as he kept a distance from the animal in case it was feeling a bit hostile. Of course if Emma were caught in sharp fence for a few hours she’d be a little aggressive too.

The officer led them over to the fencing where the dog was found. Upon examining the scene they determined there was no foul play. It was dark, the animal suffered from arthritis, and so it was entirely possible that he could have stumbled into the wiring on accident. Too weak to free himself he could do nothing but bark out his frustration and wait for help.

The owner seemed a bit shaken up, so Emma suggested they relax inside and make a hot cup of tea. While she took the woman’s statement Henry watched over the shoulder of the veterinarian as the dog’s cuts were wrapped in gauze. Henry found out from the vet that the dog was a terrier mix and had the honor of being named after one of Rome’s most famous poets, Virgil.

Henry smiled as the terrier woofed in his dreams. Virgil had been conked out with a strong sedative. Every so often his paws would paddle in midair as if he were living the life of a Coast Guard rescue dog.

“He looks like a happy fella,” the vet said, looking over at Henry. Upon seeing his beaming smile he gestured toward the animal. “Go ahead. He’s under some heavy medication. I’m sure he’d be okay with it.”

And so Henry contained the squeal and reached out to pet the smooth, wheat colored coat. Virgil sighed at the contact, ears twitching contentedly. Henry’s smile grew wider. He loved animals. They rarely judged you, talked back, or forgot about you. If only his parents had stopped fighting for a minute and reached an agreement about his wish for a pet. He desperately needed something to distract him from the chaos, something to take care of and feel responsible for.

In his deep sleep, Virgil stuck out his tongue and licked blindly at the petting fingers. Henry giggled and laughed along with the vet.

Then his serenity faded. The childhood dream of having a pet of his own seemed so far out of reach, about as far as hope to repair his fragmented family.

“Hey, kid,” Emma called, as she trotted down the porch steps. “Ready to go?”

Jerked from dark clouds in his head, he answered, “Yeah.”

“You okay?” Emma creased her forehead, pausing in opening the passenger door

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

She shut the door behind him, shrugging to herself. Instead of heading straight back to Cora’s Emma took a detour.

Henry tipped his head at the residential neighborhood flying past his window. “Weren’t we going home after Virgil was checked out?”

“We still have a few minutes.”

“Can you turn on the siren?”

“Sorry, that’s only for actual emergencies. I thought you might want to burn some time before heading back to the party. I sure am not ready.”

“You don’t enjoy my grandma’s ‘shindigs’?” Henry gasped, brows meeting his hairline.

Emma chuckled. “They’re alright. Tonight’s though is kind of a drag.”

“Why?”

She shrugged, focusing her eyes on the road. “What about you? You should be psyched. This is your last party in the Mills house.”

Henry mirrored her shrug. “It’s alright.”

“Ah, let me guess. There’s a girl involved?”

He sighed, looking down at the picking his nails were getting. “More like not involved. She didn’t come tonight.”

“And you’re bummed about that.” At his nod she reached over to pat his leg. “You can’t win’em all. That might not sound like good advice now, but you’ll thank me later.” His face screwed into confusion and its similarity to his mother’s had Emma smiling on the inside. “You can’t win’em all because you only need one. That’s all it takes and then you’re hooked.”

“Wow. That sounded… ridiculously cheesy.”

“Watch it, kid. I’m still the sheriff.”

Henry shook his head and laughed her off.

“What’s this girl’s name? Is she pretty?”

“Of course she’s pretty! Why else do you think I’m depressed about her not showing up!”

“Whoa, simmer down. It was just a question.”

Frustration accompanied his exhale. He settled back in his seat. It wasn’t Emma he meant to snap at. He just couldn’t understand Jordan and why she wouldn’t want to hang out one last time before he left. He thought they connected well. He thought she liked him. Could he be wrong?

“Her name’s Jordan. We’re the same age and we have a lot of similar interests like books and certain movies.”

Emma puckered her lips, nodding. “So far so good.”

“And she’s the smartest girl I know – except for my mom. Nobody is as smart as her.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Anyway, Jordan is this really smart, pretty girl. At first I couldn’t find a single thing wrong with her. I mean she’s perfect. But… I’m starting to notice things about her. She behaves in… morally questionable ways.”

“Now that's a phrase. Let me guess: your mom.”

“Yup. If you lived at my house you’d pick up on a lot of lawyer jargon, too.”

Emma drummed her thumbs on the steering wheel. “So what kind of morally questionable actions are we talking about here?” she asked with quizzical patience.

“Depends who is asking.”

Emma quirked a brow and muttered, “Smart kid.” She tipped her head in contemplation before settling her mind. “I’m putting my badge away. You got till we arrive at Cora’s.” She smirked at his relieved expression and felt her chest puff to taking on the role of sounding board.

“Well… she says she skips class. She can be outspoken about history related stuff, so when the teacher shuts her down and spouts directly from the textbook she gets angry and cuts the next class. Jordan says she does that to prevent all the bullshit from catching – like it’s the flu. I don’t know if that’s a good excuse to not show up. My mom would kill me if she ever caught me absent from school without running a fever. But I guess if Jordan feels that strongly about the topic…”

Amused, Emma could relate to playing hooky in her day. “Anything else?”

“She vandalizes magazines,” he replied plainly. His features scrunched as he still didn’t fully understand. “Apparently there are ads that impose unrealistic expectations on young girls. She keeps talking about how there should be more diversity to empower real woman, not the fake, airbrushed models. So whenever she comes across something even remotely objectionable she rips it out.” He squinted at his own story, having turned it over in his mind a dozen times already.

Emma chuckled, shaking her head. Henry was such a typical guy, beating his head over why girls are the way they are and bending over backwards to impress them at the same time. What a cute disaster.

“What? Why are you laughing? Did I make a fool of myself in front of her? Damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have asked her about the ads!”

“You fell for the bad girl. If that makes you a fool then the world is full of them.”

“You fell for a bad girl?”

Emma shrugged. “Not exactly. Technically I was the bad girl and a real nice girl fell for me.

“What happened?”

“What happens when nice girls realize they made a mistake? They fall for nicer girls.” Though Emma appreciated Henry’s sympathetic look, she liked to think she moved on to more accessible fish in the sea. She snorted to herself. Or not. “But let me tell you, Jordan is a budding feminist and that is a good thing. It can breed some intense conversations, but all in all you’re in for one exciting ride.”

“Why?”

“Passion. She knows what she wants, how she feels, and she’s ready to make it known. That kind of self-awareness is a precious thing.”

Henry sat listening with a desperate ear. He needed this advice, as much as he hated to admit it. Every teenage boy liked to think of himself as a natural Romeo. Apparently he was not Romeo enough for Jordan or she would have showed up tonight.

“Don’t worry too much,” Emma advised with a jut of her chin. “I’m sure she just wants to make you sweat it out. Girls do that sometimes. Don’t ask me why.”

“This is kind of weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“Talking to you about stuff. I can’t bring girls up with my mom, obviously.”

“What about your dad? Dating and girls must be like a primo father/son bonding opportunity.”

“Well, my dad isn’t the talking type. I mean, he _talks_ and he’s around most of the time. I don’t know. It’s like he’s…” His brows pinched together. He tried to find the right word to describe his dad.

“Uncomfortable? Can’t relate to you?”

“Exactly.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, I had a foster parent like that. Actually, most of the people I got stuck with were a bit socially stunted. But Henry…” She bit her lip and tried to form her words in the best possible way in which he would understand. "You mentioned your dad sticks around, mostly. And he tries, right? He doesn’t ignore you?”

“I guess.”

“Being uncomfortable doesn’t mean he feels any less for you. If he feels discomfort that means he cares and he’s trying to understand. Sometimes it’s wiser to account for what you have already rather than what you don’t have. You have it much better than a lot of kids your age. Better than I ever did. You have a family, maybe not one that lives under the same roof, but you’re not loved any less because of it. You have a smart, beautiful mom that would bring down the moon just to see you happy. God, if I had a fraction of what you have… It’s hard growing up in the system, but you don’t want to hear about that.”

Moonlight cast shadows on Emma’s face. The memory scored across her features told Henry that he wouldn’t want to hear that story.

“Hey…” she assured over his abrupt silence, “it wasn’t all that bad.”

“Did anyone hurt you?”

“If I said no would you believe me?”

Henry held her glance. They were stalled at a stop sign, so they had plenty of time to spare. All the time in the world it seemed. He shook his head.

Emma’s eyes narrowed slightly, measuring the courage in this boy. “It’s all in the past for me, not because it hurts but because it has no place in my life now.” She gave a tight smile, turned back to the road, and rolled the cruiser onward. “I mean, I think I turned out okay.” She flashed another smile, this time charged with authenticity. If she felt content with the career she earned and the life she made for herself in Woodstock, it showed.

“Eh,” Henry’s head wobbled with mock uncertainty, “you’re just okay.”

“That’s it. I’m taking you back to that boring old party!”

Henry blocked her jabs as they laughed and giggled and tried to poke at each other’s ribs all the way back to Cora’s.

The lights in the house had dimmed since, giving it an almost romantic visage. The party seemed to have slowed. Some trickled outdoors for one last smoke before returning to their homes. It was hard to tell, but only a few shadows remained moving about inside.

“Hey, Henry!” Emma shut her car door and trotted after him. When he turned to face her with those expectant eyes her hands couldn’t decide whether they wanted to hide in her pockets or flounder in midair. She settled for dabbing them on her thighs. “Hey, so… thanks for what you said back in the car.”

With the moonlight on her face Henry understood now how the shadows brought out her pain. Apparently it wasn’t as tucked away in the past as she thought. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he simply nodded.

“You’re the first that’s asked,” she said, the words scratching feebly on their way out.

He nodded again and hugged her from around her shoulders. She felt stiff, resistant, but then there was a squeeze to his arm. He looked up and she matched his dimpled cheeks.

“Goodnight, kid.”

Grinning, he patted away the hand roughing his hair. “See ya.”


	5. Chapter 5

Cora and Henry woke the next morning to discover Regina curled up on the sofa and looking out the window. She had her arms wrapped around her knees and an untouched cup of coffee not far away. She appeared deep in thought. Gloomy circles undercut her eyes.

Neither could pinpoint a time when they had seen her this contemplative. In fact, the image instilled worry in Henry who feared that his mom suffered from some sort of divorce depression. He didn’t know how to approach her; he couldn’t when he didn’t know the reason for her unusual solitude. Someone should say something, though, because Regina looked like she had been there all night – awake, alone.

Henry shuffled forward and cleared his throat. “G’morning.”

Her head shook as if ridding it of its pensive state. “Henry,” she said in one breath.

They stared at one another, Henry worrying and Regina frighteningly unreadable. A clanking of pots and pans startled them. Cora walked out of the kitchen and joined them in the living room.

“The coffee is all gone,” she groaned in mid-yawn. Her arms went out at her sides to stretch and one of them came down to rest around her grandson’s shoulder. “Who is responsible?” Despite her need to make it a threatening demand, it was early and the party left her with one hell of a hangover.

“I threw it out,” Regina replied, “and replaced it with coffee that hasn’t passed its expiration date.”

“You went out this morning?” Henry asked, glancing at the clock.

She nodded.

Cora sported a pout. “Oh, Regina, you can’t take those expiration things at face value. It’s all a gimmick to buy the product, waste it, and then buy more. It’s the circle of commercial manipulation. What they don’t tell you on those nutrition labels is that the product tastes just as good as it did when you bought it.” Cora wagged her head and threw up her arms. “My kitchen is full of expired things.”

Regina brought her mug to her lips and before sipping she threw in, “That explains a lot.”

“Well, I’m not reimbursing you.” Cora titled her chin up in a show of superiority.

Brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, Regina thought the little hissy fit more amusing than annoying. Strange, how being back under the same roof elevated their tolerance of one another. Regina swiveled on the couch and planted her feet on the carpet. She hunched over, elbows on knees, and cupping her coffee mug with both hands. She stared into the harsh black liquid like it could project her future.

“Mom, you okay?”

“Yes. I’ve been doing some thinking.”

Cora stared at the dark circles. “We can see that.”

“Henry, I know it’s been a confusing couple of months for you. It has been just as confusing for me. And I don’t want to make you do anything you aren’t ready for. I know I dragged you here without much notice and input from you. I just need to know if you would be alright with staying another week.”

Henry’s face yawned in surprise. “Really?”

“Of course, your grandmother has final say. This is her house.”

Cora, torn between a tackle hug and doing cartwheels, settled on using Henry as an excitement conductor.

He winced, feeling the grip of his sprightly grandmother squeezing his shoulder with enough force to cripple.

Inclining her head, Regina asked slowly, “I take that as a yes?”

Face frozen in exhilaration, eyes wide, mouth open, cheeks pink, Cora screeched, “ _Yes!”_

“Are you okay?” Henry asked, feeling her hyperventilation reach the windblown bangs of his hair.

“I’m bitchin’!”

“Huh?”

“I’m all good!” Cora said, excitedly. Her arms were raised above her head as she did a little cha-cha, hips wagging and eyes shining. She clapped her hands a few times before doing a little two step jig. She went from 9am to happy hour in five seconds flat.

Shaking her head a little at her mother’s antics, Regina asked him, “And you want to stay, Henry?”

Henry looked to his mom, the corners of his mouth twitching up. He thought of magazines, torn pages, lattes, and progress. “Sure. What about you?” He gave her a look that dared her to make the excuse that this was all about him and his happiness.

She glanced away. The object of her focus couldn’t be determined due to her distant expression. Regina stilled, shoulders relaxed, eyes trained, head tipped to the side in a curious way her son hadn’t seen before. She inhaled and let out an easy sigh. She almost looked wistful.

Regina met her son with clarity. Anyone looking back would say it was contagious. “I’d like to stay too.”

* * *

Over the course of a week, Regina began to settle into a routine. She slept in past her usual wake up call, but always managed to put in a good few hours of work. Her workstation happened to be where she did homework as a teenager. Her desk butted right up under the window and afforded a lovely view of the field. It was a comfortable space, quiet and cool, where she delegated her team rather splendidly from afar. Regina had always been one of the first to enter the firm and the last to leave, but she was beginning to see the appeal in working from home. It had its perks in the freedom from heavy make-up and formal attire.

By noon she either met her son for lunch at one of the town’s diners or she was received by her mother in their kitchen. Of course her mother’s meals usually consisted of some new vegan dish ready for experimentation. ‘Experimentation’ was a compliment compared to the slew of terms on the tip of Regina’s unsatisfied tongue. Either it was coincidence that she was present at every trial or Cora rigged her odd/even day schedule to fulfill her wishes. Cora intended to publish a vegan cookbook from the perspective of a spiritualist. She would not wait any longer. Her tarot cards told her so.

All through the week not a single regret entered Regina’s mind. She presented the option to extend their stay in Woodstock and it resolved in unanimous agreement. But the reasons, those were the things she looked back on and picked apart in startling detail.

It began on their supposed last night in Woodstock. Regina witnessed the exchange between Emma and Henry from within the darkened house. Though she couldn’t hear what was said, she understood from their body language that the shared moment was a meaningful one. Henry wasn’t an affectionate child. He was less likely to take a hug from his grandmother than he was to employ one with Emma, a near stranger. And Emma… she went through a myriad ripple of expressions: shock, terror, sadness, relief.

The way Emma and Henry fell into the embrace prickled the corners of Regina’s eyes. Just as soon as she felt her cheeks dampen she scrubbed at them with her fist. How they brushed it off… those smiles and the head ruffle didn’t fool Regina and the fact that they thought conducting all this outside would remain secret riled her up.

Some desolate thing had passed between them – desolate, that is, in the way a scar screams for recognition. They shared a part of themselves they maybe hadn’t with anyone else and sealed an unspoken trust with that exchange. Part of Regina raged at the thought of being left out. Another part felt proud of her son and thankful that he had Emma to share in whatever it was he couldn’t share with her.

When the possibility of staying sprang like a seed in her mind, it made her think not only of herself but Henry. He looked happy here in Woodstock. He had made a friend in Jordan and now Emma. Even his grandmother loved him in her own way. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad place to restart their life. She considered the possibility all night long.

But it wasn’t all due to Emma and Henry. Woodstock made Regina feel good again. She felt hopeful, like meaning and misunderstanding could walk hand in hand without coming to blows, like promise could follow a middling, long expired partnership. Who would have thought breathing fresh air, flexing an inflexible schedule, and spending more time with Henry put things in perspective? Even her mother had a hand in it, too. Something shifted between them. The string of tension started to loosen and misperceptions disentangled after years at a distance. When Regina left for college she and Cora were standing on separate docks with an ocean between them. Now those ripples of tension had calmed and the space closed, making it easier to endure their eccentricities.

Regina’s musings over her time spent in town were suddenly interrupted by a thrum-rattle. Her cell phone wobbled beside her on the desk. It vibrated once before lighting up with a name that jolted Regina from her chair. In one smooth motion she reached and answered it.

“Sheriff Swan,” she greeted over an unsteady heart rate.

_“You have me in your contacts? I’m flattered.”_

Regina bit at her lip. “If it were not for your insistence and the threat of imprisonment…”

Emma’s laugh passed clearly across the line. _“You read way too much into things.”_

“You flashed your handcuffs right in front of me!”

 _“I was just polishing them!”_ The bout of giggling was barely stifled behind the hand. _“Anyway, if you don’t have my number you could always dial 9-1-1.”_

“I would, but then my call would be misconstrued as an emergency.”

_“I’d think getting a hold of me is always an emergency.”_

Regina’s chuckle came deep within her chest. “You think much too highly of yourself, Sheriff.”

_“Otherwise you wouldn’t have picked up after the first ring. I get it.”_

Spine going taught, Regina let out a rough albeit anxious sigh. “You called me. What is it that you wish to discuss?”

_“Well, I thought we could hold off on the conversation and start with a proposal.”_

“…”

_“Regina? Are you still there?”_

“Yes, I’m here.” She shook her head as she said it.

_“Okay. Good. I was wondering – and you don’t have to read too deep into this – but I was wondering if you would let me take you somewhere today. I don’t mean it in, like, a creepy way because I’m the sheriff and if I want to spend time with someone I don’t take them out back in the woods, I just arrest them…”_

“Hilarious.”

_“I thought so. Anyway, I’d like for you to tag along. It will be fun, I promise. And it’s Saturday, so that’s even more reason for you to stop working and enjoy the sunshine.”_

“I’m not working,” Regina insisted, dashing to her workspace.

_“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you close your laptop shut. So… what do you say to a friendly kidnapping?”_

Regina breathed in the question and exhaled with a growing smile. “I suppose I could use a break...”

* * *

The chime rang out above the door as Emma opened it for Regina. They barely got a few steps into the delicatessen before a wave of aromas hit them. The first thing Regina’s eyes drew to were the sausages hanging from a rack. The cases were hard, chalky white, and smelled exquisitely inviting to her rumbling stomach. Fat logs of salami, prosciutto, mortadella, soppressata, capicola, and like dried meats stacked in pyramids for both show and market. Hunks of roast beef and ham lined the front window to attract passersby.

Sliced meats, slabs of aged cheese, and a plethora of salads were displayed behind polished glass cases, refrigerated and sealing in their freshness. When Regina spotted olives of all varieties swimming in their flavorful juices she fought hard not to wet her lips.

A made-to-order station lined the back of the wall in a Subway-like manner. On the wall to their right hung a large black chalkboard that advertised the daily specials.

It had a classic Italian-American atmosphere; the type of gourmet one would see on any other New York City street corner. It made Regina feel at home. Her nostrils flared as she took in the scents, her taste buds watering instantly. Either her eyes were bigger than her stomach or she was much hungrier than she thought.

The lone employee of the deli stood behind the glass case. He, the presumed butcher, was middle-aged, short, and could be considered lanky by the apron hiding his round gut. On his gleaming hairless head sat a white paper hat, typical to those donned by 1930s soda fountain attendants. His black-dyed mustache gleamed in the overhead lights.

The butcher held a suspicious looking package which he then deposited in a plastic bag. Emma thanked him and took the bag off his hands. They smiled at each other as if this were a regular occurrence and swapped a few bills. When she turned, pocketing her change, she was confronted by a brow raise.

“It’s a secret, so don’t ask.”

Regina raised her hands to affirm that her lips were sealed. Emma passed her without an explanation and she trailed after, not tearing her eyes from the white, plastic bag.

Driving them in her yellow VW Bug, which Regina just had to scoff at, Emma took a scenic road out of downtown. Regina didn’t ask where she was being taken and Emma didn’t seem to be in the sharing mood. If anything she was being mysterious. Regina turned towards her window to subdue a glare. She hated surprises.

There wasn’t much to talk about. Since Regina made the decision to stay another week she hadn’t instigated another encounter. They saw each other, of course, but all at the expense of coincidence. When they had met in passing they exchanged casual pleasantries. Nothing much to make note of on their way to this mystery destination.

They passed a field, a farm or two, and a wooded area before the VW’s tires hit gravel. Emma followed the trail through an open metal gate and parked just short of a clearing. With just a knowing grin, Emma’s eyes sparkled as she indicated to Regina that they had arrived at their destination.

Emma had parked them at the corner of a forest. The branches and heavy foliage obscured their view, so their exact location in Woodstock could not be determined by Regina.

Rubbing her palms on her jeans, she counted herself lucky to have chosen an informal wardrobe. With little feedback from Emma, Regina could not see past the designer jeans and tunic combo her figure grew fond of wearing the past few days. Even if the sneakers weren’t her usual staple, they were certainly worth seeing her son’s choked expression.

Skirting the wood, they came upon an expansive field. At its forefront awaited a quaint, maize yellow-painted stable with white fencing.

Regina ground to a halt, stupefied.

“What, did you forget how to ride a horse?” Emma asked, sporting a smile and waving her to follow.

They were welcomed inside by two horse trainers who introduced themselves as Judy and Curtis. They were of equal height and humor – Regina assumed happily married by the matching rings and their proclivity to finish each other’s sentences. She did not recognize them and meant to say so until it was made known that the management of the stable was handed over to them years ago when Judy’s father passed away. Walter, the elderly tenant who hobbled about Woodstock Ranch for nearly seventy years, was the kindly man who always patted Regina’s helmeted head and triple-checked the equipment before she rode out. Regina held fond memories of him and offered her condolences.

The trainers seemed prepared for their patron’s jaunt. The horses were fed and saddled, and a basket to carry their lunch was waiting strapped to one of the animals.

Judy handed Regina her helmet and she took it with a vague nod. Once a young equestrian herself, she knew the preparation it took for riding these beasts and she was quite shocked that every detail had been thought out. She didn’t have to lift a finger.

Upon mounting her horse, Regina experienced a moment of panic. Her heart fluttered in her ribcage as she scrambled to remember proper technique. Her steed knocked his head about, whickering sharply. She eased her grip on the reins, waving off Curtis’ attempt to assist her.

Regina closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. Calm and slow. The horse could detect anxiety just as quickly as its rider felt it. If she remained at ease so would the animal.

When she felt more in control Regina eased them from straw to closely shorn grass. Chin tilted up, she spotted Emma and her white horse trotting ahead. They warmed up by weaving figure eight routes and making short sprints across the lawn.

The sheriff was all smiles, at ease, and looking rather lithe, Regina would admit. Her jean-clad thighs clamped tightly around the horse, ankles tucked in for control. Despite the helmet, her hair unfurled lazily down her back and ruffled in the breeze. Her gloved hands made corrections by a casual pull on the reins. Emma seemed a natural.

The sound of hooves brought the horse’s and rider’s attention to their onlookers.

Emma’s smile grew wider, cheeks straining against her helmet straps. “Like riding a bike, huh?”

“Or a horse,” Regina corrected flatly.

The smart ass comment was received with a cackle. It really took a lot to knock the sheriff down a peg, something Regina, try as she might, had been attempting to pull off since day one. If she wanted to go as far as knocking the sheriff off her saddle and onto her ass, she’d have to pull out all the stops. Regina chuckled darkly to herself at the challenge.

The sheriff steered her horse for the trail which wound down a hill and through the field. “I say we start this at a healthy gallop.”

“Emma Swan,” mused Regina who shook her head amusingly, “the girl who ran before she could walk.”

“I’m detecting some hesitation in that barely veiled thing you thought a criticism. Would you like to do this at a slow, easy amble, counselor?” Emma turned to the trail and side-eyed Regina. “Or do you want to take it like the big kids?”

“Is that a challenge, Sheriff?” Regina held fast to the reins, anticipation mounting.

“If you can keep up I’ll let you know.” Emma spun her horse around and bolted off.

Rolling her eyes, Regina wasted no time digging her heels into her horse to start them ahead – or tried to.

Emma’s laughter traveled on the wind and Regina cursed the horse for broadcasting their stalled situation. He neighed fitfully and pawed at the earth to show his frustration as Regina attempted to get them on the same page.

Her scowl only lasted a moment before it melted into unrestrained laughter. They were at a dashing pace now and gliding seamlessly down the hill. She forgot how exhilarating this could feel: the wind in her hair and the sun on her face, all the while the ground sped beneath her and her steed. They raced down the hill and across the field at break neck pace. Regina allowed the terror and the excitement to fill her veins. The two extremes complimented each other perfectly.

The muscles of her ill-prepared thighs burned an intense heat that crawled up her limbs. In addition to forgetting the excitement derived from riding, she also forgot how much her body aged since last using these muscles. If she didn’t feel discomfort now she’d definitely feel it in the morning. But Regina couldn’t seem to care. This kind of freedom she felt flying across the fields of Woodstock again seemed well worth the ache.

Blood pumped hard in her ears, her breath coming in pants, and she fought to keep up with Emma. It was fun. It was strenuous. And she had missed it _dearly_.

Ahead, Emma steered them into a wooded area. The trail here was heavily trodden and accessible to their pace. The turns were sharp and branches needed to be ducked, but she didn’t let up for one second. To any competitor’s delight, not a single edge was offered. The thrashing blonde locks taunted Regina about as much as they enchanted her.

Breathing roughly, Regina’s eyes never left the back of Emma’s red jacket. It proved difficult to curse the rider for her ten second advantage. She conceded to the woman’s stamina as she could her allure. Where Emma lacked grace on two left feet, she made up for in athletic prowess on horseback. Surprising to Regina, there might be something to gain from this woman when it came to riding performance.

Their path bisected the forest and exited to a lesser wooded area. Emma slowed to a trot before dismounting. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily.

“You want to walk the rest of the way?”

Regina tried not to stare at the woman’s abandoned state and complied with a breathy, “Okay.” She hardly felt the desire to criticize Emma for the juvenile taunt upon their first setting off. Wanton feelings aside, her body was in need of a cool off.

When Emma came over to help her down Regina was careful not to provoke any more contact than need be. Her joints were stiff and her muscles sore, but her entire body thrummed from the ride and she was feeling quite impulsive at the moment.

Emma muffled her laugh as she witnessed Regina fluff her hair back into place. The helmet had matted it down pretty good and was in no mood to yield to her adjustments.

“How do you ride so well?” Regina asked.

Their shoulders brushed as they escorted their horses on either side of them.

“Practice.”

“Well, obviously. I suppose I meant: Why do you ride so well? You don’t seem the type.”

“You’d be the first,” Emma defended with a snicker. “I’ll have you know, I am _very_ outdoorsy. And as far as horses go I’ve been riding since I arrived in Woodstock. I wanted to distance myself from my experience in New York, so I dove head first into the most un-New York activity.”

“So you became an equestrian.”

“I was galloping before I could trot,” she upheld over Regina’s amusement, “and it got me flat on my ass a few times, too.”

Regina’s mocking pout warred with her smile. “Poor thing.”

“Yeah, yeah. I learned from my mistakes and came to enjoy it.”

“What do you like about it?”

“The solitude,” Emma answered readily. She stared ahead into the cloudless sky with an enduring sense of wonder. “The companionship between horse and rider. It’s not easy to gain a horse’s trust.”

Regina tipped her head in consideration. “Neither is it for humans.”

“But at least the horses don’t talk back. You give them an extra sugar cube and their eating out of the palm of your hand – literally.”

Regina laughed, reaching out to pet the snowy white horse in Emma’s possession. “Is she yours?”

“Yes, but I’m not greedy. I give Judy and Curtis permission to use her for their adult riding classes.” As if knowing she was the subject of conversation, the mare nuzzled Emma from under her chin. They women laughed at her attention seeking antics and Emma calmed her down with a pat. “She’s got some years on her, but she’s popular with the kids, even if they’re too small to mount her. They play ‘Ring Around the Joni,’ racing around her in circles, giggling ecstatically, and Joni just stands their like she’s god’s gift to ritualistic urchins.” Emma ended on a chuckle just as her horse affirmed with a whicker.

Regina slowly lurched back, studying the blonde with a curious expression. “Joni?”

“Don’t ask. She was like that before I got here.”

They shook their heads, amusingly, and thought simultaneously of all the things in Woodstock that were already ‘like that’ before they got there.

“You confuse me, Emma,” admitted Regina with a sigh. “I like to think I know this town well. You don’t seem to fit in. I don’t know _where_ you fit in it.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Regina’s eyes jerked up from the ground and met Emma’s questioning green. “You misunderstand.” She shook her head in apology. “Everyone has a unique perception of the world. Everyone in this country believes in a set image of Woodstock. They look at this town and they see hippies, psychotropic drugs, and Bob Dylan. They may uphold a certain stereotype, but it isn’t far from the truth. Many are drawn to Woodstock for its infamous history despite the 1969 festival taking place in an entirely different town. Others settle down here because it’s a safe environment to raise children. This town is practically founded on folk traditions and activism and counterculture of the 1960s.” Regina bit her lip in frustration. She shook her head and finally turned to the puzzle of a woman at her side. “I may have just met you, but I pride myself on observation. You don’t fit the mold. In fact, you seem to reject it.”

“Yeah, I’m the most unconventional individual amongst a slew of unconventional citizens.”

“Don’t poke fun. I’m asking a serious question. I’d like to know.”

“You’d like to know… about me.”

Regina frowned to the odd rephrasing, but answered anyway. “Yes, you, not the others.”

“I don’t know what else to say that I haven’t said before.” Emma shrugged, at a loss for a better explanation. “I’m the only one bringing personal stories to the table here.”

“Because thanks to my mother’s big mouth you know everything there is to know about me.”

“Well, not everything. Cora doesn’t speak very often of your dad.”

“She wouldn’t, would she?”

The derision laced in Regina snap threw Emma off and warned that this was a sore subject between her and Cora. Then, she noticed the shade of grey clouding the woman’s face. “He hasn’t been around for a while,” Emma fought hard not to stare, “has he?”

“No,” Regina concurred distractedly, “he passed away when I was nine. My mother hardly ever brings him up anymore. I don’t think she can bear it still.”

Emma could feel the sting of loss like it had transferred magically from Regina to her. But magic was not responsible for the hot tears stinging behind her eyes. Personal experience, that’s what brought on this overwhelming grief like a crushing weight on her chest. Personal experience with death. She may not have known her loss like Regina knew her father, but Emma mourned them nonetheless.

She sighed heavily. “I’ll answer your questions if you talk about that case you’re working on.”

“Why do you want to hear me talk about my lawsuit?”

“Are you saying it’s not important to you?”

“No,” Regina held with a near growl. “Of course it’s important to _me_. I just don’t see why it would be important to _you_ to hear me go on about it.”

“Humor me.”

“ _Later_.”

“ _Promise?”_

“You are such a child.”

“It keeps me looking young and beautiful.”

Regina scoffed up to the blue, cloudless sky.

As they continued on the path Emma started her very short account of how she came to settle in Woodstock. Tales from life in the foster system were scarce and left an inquiring mind to wonder further about the stories Emma left out. Lighter topics were soon unearthed. Apparently, Emma’s musical tastes were far from the local fair. She preferred more amp with her guitar and less flower power. The folksy sound did nothing for her; instead she sided with a more album-oriented, conventional rock sound like Aerosmith or the Red Hot Chili Peppers. When pressed for additional references, Emma professed reluctantly to an interest in classic jazz. Instead of the ridicule she expected, Regina responded with surprise and delight. That the sheriff possessed a more delicate palate and to be of one of her own favorite genres gave Regina a strange kind of thrill. Once this information came to light they proceeded into a lively discussion on New York jazz festivals. To think that they were present at the same exact performance in Central Park on the same exact day… it left them considering startlingly similar conclusions to a meet-cute that never occurred.

In turn, as promised, Regina talked about the case she had been working on for the last year. She outlined the general points while Emma followed with surprising dexterity. At some point Regina lost sight of where they were and flowed into an exuberant rant on recent proceedings. Emma displayed interest with questions of clarification and inquired about Regina’s duties as well as her estimation of their chances of a victory. Emma’s peaked curiosity only fueled Regina’s passion further.

Emma was impressed. Regina held her shoulders square and her back taught while she dictated the purpose behind the lawsuit. The way Regina talked about the whole case gave Emma the impression that she enjoyed her work. She cared about its outcome. She respected the opposition. She held her head high at the prospect of defeat and Emma didn’t think she had met a more ambitious, illuminating creature as Regina Mills.

Unbeknownst to Regina, the plan worked perfectly. Getting her to loosen up enough to talk about her work opened the flood gates to other topics. Following her exposition on the lawsuit, Regina dipped a little into her college experiences, her love of the city and all its sights, sounds, and smells, a few snippets from her childhood, and plenty of horror stories on rearing a little Mills monster.

The one part of her life that Emma was dying to know about happened to be the one story Regina kept close to the chest. In time, Emma hoped to navigate around the woman’s insecurities well enough to reach in and liberate that clandestine piece of history.

“So was he always a monster? Because, don’t get me wrong, he is a pretty well-behaved kid if you ask me.”

Regina’s smile dazzled. “He is an angel. I’m lucky enough to see that side of him _most_ of the time.”

Lingering on the affection in Regina’s voice, Emma experienced a familiar wave of envy encapsulate her nerves. Her sweaty palm gripped the reigns tighter. She shook off her anxiety. When she spotted a revealing shimmer ahead an idea struck her.

Emma’s smirk grew wider and more mischievous with her inquiry. “What would Henry say if he knew his mom got bested in a race to the lake?”

“What?” was all Regina managed before flaxen locks swung ahead.

Emma’s riding boots kicked up clumps of earth in her sprint to the lakeside. There was no beach; instead a grassy knoll which descended to meet the water. The large man-made lake had no visitors and stretched from one end of the clearing to the other. It shimmered silver under the sun’s rays and awaited as calm and inviting as a private resort.

Regina was left at the edge of the forest, dumbstruck between two horses. She watched as Emma hopped her way to the edge of the water, struggling to remove her boots. Suddenly, the poorly dealt challenge rounded back to her attention and soon she was cursing her way into a jog. Leave it to Emma to cheat at a game that hadn’t yet begun. Premature… more like immature, Regina thought glumly.

“Come on, spoilsport,” called Emma as if she was clairvoyant. She was already down to her camisole and underwear and backstroking her way to the center of the lake.

“I am not a spoilsport,” Regina affirmed, hands on her hips and rooted to the very edge of the water. “I am being practical, and I can tell by your laughing that this was not on your itinerary for the day.”

“I’m afraid my itinerary got soiled when I tripped in the lake.”

“I thought I told you I do not do sarcasm.”

“Come on, Regina. Just a short swim to cool off and I promise we will eat something after.”

“You have asked quite a bit from me already. There is a line not to be crossed and this,” Regina’s hand flapped about in the general direction of the bathing woman and suddenly she was finding it hard to finish her sentence, “this… this is crossing a line.”

Relieving herself from her floating position on the surface, Emma opened her mouth to protest.

A solitary index finger rose to shut her up. “And don’t get glib about what I talked about. There are things I’ve told you that I wouldn’t tell my friends.”

Paddling in wide circles, Emma spat out some lake water in a rather casual manner that disgusted her spectator. “And yet you did it so naturally. I could hardly tell you were in pain just talking about yourself.” Emma’s chuckling went unaccompanied. She didn’t think she’d ever had _this_ much fun before. Something told her if she pushed her luck too far she’d find herself on the wrong end of a lawsuit. Eh, she thought, Regina didn’t think _that_ highly of herself. Or so she hoped.

She righted herself so her feet reached the bottom. Rising on her tippy toes, Emma cocked her head and thrust her bottom lip out. “This is a big lake and I’m feeling kind of insecure right now. Please help a sheriff out?”

With a howling exhale, Regina bent down and started ripping her shoe laces from their knot. From there she began a systematic disrobing all the while grunting and muttering nonsensically, “Goddamn… puppy eyes… that stupid pout… ARGH!”

Upon wadding in, Regina found out, shockingly, that Emma turned out to be lady enough not to divest herself of all her clothing. Regina would have expected such a heinous act from someone as uncouth as her, but she was colored surprised to see Emma adequately covered. Some part of her deflated upon confirmation. Regina didn’t understand that part and she wouldn’t let it govern her – at least not consciously.

After a quiet, uneventful cooling off in the lake Emma led Regina over to a sunny area where they could dry off. Fingers and toes running through blades of grass, Regina brought her hand up to shield the sun from her eyes. “You really didn’t plan that, did you?”

“No, but I always keep an extra blanket in the saddle bag, in case it happens to be a nice day for a swim.”

She laid out a soft, flannel throw for herself and another for Regina beside it. At the center she deposited the plastic take-out bag Regina had her eye on the whole afternoon.

Regina smiled, envying the woman’s changeable nature. “You swim in this lake often?”

“Sometimes.”

“My father took me here every Saturday. This lake used to be like our family swimming pool.”

“Saturdays, huh?”

Regina nodded, her smile wistful.

“Well,” Emma sighed and buried her hand into the bag, “did your dad bring fresh deli sandwiches because these are one of a kind.”

The moment Regina spotted the wax paper wrapped sandwich she sniffed the air and sprang to her knees. Greed and anticipation consumed her without warning. “Is that pastrami?” she gasped, snatching the proffered meal.

Emma took one look at the crazed expression and broke out into a chuckle. “If I knew you liked the stuff I could have won you over sooner.”

“Why would you think I didn’t like pastrami?” Regina’s demand provoked Emma to shrink a little. The woman was hungry and feeling threatened by some mistaken belief that she was indifferent to pastrami. “Everyone from New York likes pastrami. Well, except vegetarians. But every deli sells it. It’s _amazing_.”

“I agree.” Emma raised her hands up. “Go ahead and dig in. I’m not holding you back or anything.”

“I can’t believe you brought this. I can’t believe this town makes pastrami.”

“I can’t believe what a dork you are about pastrami,” muttered Emma with a grin. She received a glare in return, so she quickly pacified with a wink and an, “Our secret.”

They ate in silence. Regina didn’t want it any other way. The sun baked her skin golden, she could feel the cool drops from her hair trickle down her shoulders, and her lips glistened with the decadent grease from the meat. Every bit of the sandwich melted on her tongue: the peppercorns, the spicy mustard, toasted rye… it all exhibited flavors she hadn’t tasted since leaving the city. She may even admit to never tasting anything this delicious.

Once the sandwiches were wolfed down Emma extracted another item from the bag: fresh kettle chips because “what’s pastrami without potato chips?” After licking their fingers clean of sea salt and pepper they washed their lunch down with a classic throwback: glass bottled cola.

“You certainly thought of everything.”

Emma raised a brow. “Is that a compliment?”

“Perhaps,” Regina replied, tipping her bottle back before her smile could be detected.

“I figured you’ve been away from home for so long that you’d be going through food withdrawal. I only hope the sandwiches live up to the ‘real thing.’”

The way Emma used air quotes to emphasize ‘real thing’ seemed ironic seeing as it was Emma who not long ago praised the city’s appreciation for cured meats.

Or maybe she was being sarcastic again; Regina couldn’t tell anymore. Something in Emma’s expressions, comical and at times overstated, distracted her from the more important things like speech. In point of fact, Regina had been caught staring several times that day and had to ask Emma to repeat herself. Regina never daydreamed and she never ogled unless it served a purpose. Staring at Emma’s damp, dripping hair, her sun-stained cheeks, the coke bottle’s rim sliding over her lips, her… her everything, none of it accomplished any particular goal. Time seemed to slow down, the day was blossoming into unexpected beauty and staring just seemed a harmless pastime. The fixation was all unconscious on Regina’s part, much like her need to swim in close, coy proximity to Emma.

But when Regina became aware of these unconscious desires, something in her snapped. The first thought that occurred to her was Emma’s intentions. The second: her own intentions.

She placed her drink down and straightened her posture. “What are you trying to do here, Emma?” Her eyes narrowed hawk-like. “And why are you doing it?”

Emma paused mid-sip. Her own eyes scanned the veiled trepidation staring back. “I don’t understand,” she said, suppressing her disappointment. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Regina shook her head, looking just as lost herself. “The horses, my lake, the pastrami sandwiches… is this a game to you?”

“I’m sorry. I thought doing something nice for someone was considered a _good thing_.” Emma huffed, flapping her arms out. “My bad.”

“And what did you think would happen? What do _you_ get out of this?”

“Is it so terrible to believe I might want to make you smile without getting anything in return?” Spurred on by the tilt of Regina head, clearly an indication that she didn’t comprehend, Emma waved her hands to cut off her own defense. There was no reason to go on kidding Regina, much less herself. “Actually, no, that’s not true. I do get something out of it because I like you. I like being around you and I like doing these things for you. And… shit, I like that you are over analyzing this because that is typical lawyer Regina and that’s one of the crazy, messed up reasons why I like you. You’re irritating and remarkable and you second-guess my motives every chance you get.” Emma’s fingers laced through her soggy locks as she rambled. Whether the habit resulted from the frustration she claimed to feel or because of her sudden panic at being put on the spot, she didn’t know either way. This was all new to her, too, so she might as well let this rant run its course. “You question me at every turn and that’s okay. I get it. I have my trust hang ups, too. But believe me when I tell you I’m not playing you and, unless you know different, Cora has no hand in this. I don’t treat people like their pieces on a chess board, Regina. You’re way too smart to fall for that and I respect you too much to try. If there’s an angle in this whole thing it’s to get more time to spend around you.”

At the end of it all Emma exhaled an exhausted, demoralizing “shit” like she couldn’t believe what came out of her mouth, not that it didn’t come from the heart. She had a feeling from day one that Regina could smell bullshit from a mile away. It’s just that Emma got a bit surly when people questioned her, especially her good deeds. Sometimes there was no stopping her and her classless mouth. She had fought to defend her decisions and her way of life, verbally and at times physically as well. When your fists had been up for so long it proved hard to stand down even during seemingly harmless circumstances.

Feeling that she had come on too strong, Emma lowered her gaze to the blanket her fingers were plucking. She felt the eyes on her like they burned a path straight through her soul. God, this was either humiliating or awkward. She didn’t know which. Maybe a bit of both.

Regina, unshed tears in her eyes, swallowed with difficulty. The hammering her ribcage was getting from her heart didn’t help things. Her throat bobbed over the lump. “Damn it,” she muttered, turning to swipe a knuckle under her eye.

“I didn’t mean to trigger the waterworks.” Emma cringed, hoping her implied apology would lighten the tension.

“I know. It’s just your damn face.”

“Excuse me?”

Regina looked up, shocked that her last comment was picked up. It wasn’t meant to be heard. When it concerned that adorably weepy yet argumentative face, the last thing Regina needed to combat was Emma thinking she _felt_ something for that adorably weepy yet argumentative face. God, this was humiliating, and awkward as hell.

“It’s not in good taste,” Regina rephrased, “to make a woman look like this.” Her hands gestured to herself before dropping in her lap.

Their shoulders slumped in sync, misunderstanding and unresolved sentiment weighing them down.

“Sorry,” mumbled Emma. “Can I get a do-over here? I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, ass backwards edition.”

Tears drying, Regina let out a relieved sigh. At the tail end of it she chuckled. “I think a do-over is in order for the both of us, dear”

They raised their bottles.

“To new beginnings,” Emma toasted.

Regina tapped her glass to Emma’s. “New beginnings. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me feel a little less home sick. I do appreciate what you’ve done for me.” Head dropping shyly, Regina frowned at the bottle’s label whose corners were getting peeled by her thumb’s nail. “And Henry,” she added softly. She met Emma’s furrowed brow. “After you dropped him off that night he looked different, older somehow. He doesn’t tell me, but I think he’s gotten over something. He’s really taken with this place. Whatever you did or said to him made him feel welcome.”

Emma shifted her eyes warily before speaking. “We just drove around town.”

Regina smiled, shaking her head. “He likes you.”

“Is that a rare thing? The kid liking people?”

She shrugged and stalled for an answer by taking a swig from her cola. “Henry is shy. He’s been that way since he was a boy. I suppose I encouraged it. The very idea of letting him out of my sight frightened me. I always wanted him near me, if not to keep him safe than to keep me safe.”

“How so?”

Because my husband makes me lonely, Regina thought. Instead of honesty, she turned away so her chin touched her shoulder and she was looking down, dejected. “The house feels hollow and cold without Henry.” Okay, maybe it wasn’t a _total_ lie. And as if it explained every little mystery in her universe, she grinned tearfully and said, “He is a part of me.”

Emma tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She desperately wanted to broach a subject she undoubtedly knew was impulsive. The question had pestered her tirelessly for days. But it seemed like the right time and she already embarrassed herself once this afternoon, so what the hell?

“Excuse me for being blunt, but where does Henry’s father fit in all this? Why are you and your son in Woodstock and… _he_ isn’t?”

A careful study ensued. “It sounds like you’ve wanted to ask me that for quite some time.”

Emma shut her eyes, mortified. “Is it that obvious?”

Teeth grit down, jaw working. Regina fixed Emma with a stern glare. She was angry, clearly, but perhaps not with Emma specifically.

“If I had asked him to come with us he would have made some preposterous excuse. It’s a good thing I didn’t, otherwise, I’d have to explain to Henry why his father abandoned him yet again.”

Emma winced, scratching the back of her neck. “So that’s a regular occurrence, is it?”

The shoulder roll and seething look in Regina’s eye warned that it was not on the table for discussion. To show her indifference, Emma gave a half shoulder shrug and looked off into the shimmering lake. She didn’t care that her question went unanswered. The creases bending at the corners of her eyes, however, were not so willing to let the subject go. She lingered on the potential replies for a while as she tried to stare, unassuming, at the water.

“That house there across the lake,” Regina said, jerking Emma from her thoughts, “was where I spent my summers. I never knew my grandparents but they reserved its rooms and its close vicinity to the lake for Cora’s children and whoever succeeded them.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Emma caught sight of a quaint ranch-style house. It stood on a hill that sloped a good few meters from the water’s edge. It was a modest-sized home with a standalone garage fit for two cars and a gravel drive which twisted out of the property on a mile trip to the center of town. Its siding was painted blinding white and its shutters were black. The wraparound porch could be seen from their proximity across the lake. Perfect for morning musings, a single rocking chair faced east.

“I don’t think they intended on it being left in disuse. Although it is a bit strange… how well it looks to have sustained the years. It’s a shame,” Regina murmured sadly. “I have fond memories of those summers. To think it isn’t offering anyone the enjoyment it gave me seems quite tragic.”

“Well, I can assure you it does.” Swirling her cola bottle, Emma watched the caramelly liquid churn and fizz at its bottom. “Otherwise, I don’t know what the point is in still living there.”

Regina did a double-take. “I don’t think I heard you. Do you mean to say you _own_ that house?”

“As of ten years ago. Structurally speaking it didn’t make much of an impression when I first saw it. It was definitely beyond a ‘fixer-upper.’ But I was new in town and I needed someplace to live.” Emma shrugged. “Cora helped me out.”

“How? She would never sell it. It has been in our family for generations. She couldn’t.”

“She didn’t exactly have a choice. Her paintings weren’t bringing in a whole lot of income at the time. She couldn’t make the payments. No one lived there, so weather and termites had the run of it. It was about to be foreclosed. That’s how I got word of the sale; I was only a deputy at the time. Your mom was generous enough to give me a discount.”

“She gave you a discount,” Regina blinked, “on a _house_?”

“As I said: generous. And I could afford the price. If the foster system teaches you anything it’s to hide your savings under the loose floorboards. I’m a saver, not a spender,” Emma declared with a wink.

Regina still seemed to be lagging behind. She was dumbstruck, permanently so. “My mother gave you that house,” she said, vacantly. “My grandparents’ house.”

Frowning, Emma assured her, “She didn’t _give_ it to me. She _sold_ it to me. There’s a difference.”

Eventually, Regina got over the initial shock. “Really, you surprise me, Emma.” She shook her head at the house and side-eyed the young woman. “A homeowner,” she mused, suddenly charmed by the notion.

“And a handywoman, apparently,” Emma conceded, still surprised that she managed to tackle the remodeling. “Plumbing, drywall, roofing, refinishing, décor, the works.”

“Décor?”

“Shut up. I had _some_ help, okay? Anyway, you should stop by sometime and see what I’ve done with the place. I doubt it looks the same as when you were last there.”

“I was 15.”

“So a _long_ time.” In a smooth motion, Emma held up her palms against the glare before taking a swig from her cola. She smiled fiendishly behind the rim. “What made you stop going? You couldn’t have been more than 17 or 18 when you left for college. Or were you one of those AP students who skipped grades like stones on the water?”

“If you are asking me if I kept myself abreast of my progress and performance through school then yes. And I stopped spending my summers at the cottage because I was determined on leaving this town for good.”

“Actually, I was asking if you were an overachiever, but…”

Emma shrugged like it didn’t matter when in fact it did. She couldn’t get the image out of her head: a bookish brunette with glasses perched on her nose and a stack of books hugged to her chest; a gorgeous Latina who could hold her own against bullies with a clever retort; and a headstrong girl who wouldn’t mind the company of a homely blonde in need of tutoring not to mention a best friend.

“I don’t like that word. The parents at Henry’s school use it in a certain way that makes me cringe. It comes with negative connotations, like –“

“Nerd? Dork?”

“No, but even those terms can be misconstrued. I was thinking more along the lines of –“

“Brown noser? Teacher’s pet?”

“You like labels, don’t you, Sheriff Swan?”

“It sounds like you do as well.”

“Quite so,” Regina conceded, rolling her eyes at her blunder. Referring to each other by their first names was something Emma insisted on. Try as hard as she might, Regina couldn’t fight it. She found that she had grown accustomed to the vowel/consonant pair rolling off her tongue. That kind of familiarity couldn’t be broached at the firm, nor in her isolated everyday life. “I am trying, _Emma_.”

The sound and shape of Regina’s lips as she uttered the two syllables triggered a shiver through Emma. She cleared her throat and shook off the invasion. Before she could stop herself another sensation overwhelmed her. “What other labels do you object to?”

Tilting her head to the side, Regina could tell from the whispers on her shoulder that the sun dried out the dampness from her hair. She reached up with a hand to run out the tangles and consider her own personal vexations with labels. Emma followed the movement of her hands closely and Regina watched her back. She had a feeling honesty, at this particular juncture, would not be returned unjustly in her face.

“When I hear ‘labels’ I think of high school and cliques.” She curled her legs under her and let the heel of her hand take most of her weight as she leaned casually on the blanket. “I also think of the words ‘straight,’ ‘gay,’ ‘lesbian,’ and how limiting they are to my sexual fluidity.”

“So you’re bisexual?” The significance dawned on Emma in the form of slowly rising eyebrows

Mirth came over Regina effortlessly. “If it helps you understand me better…” she inclined her head towards Emma and continued slyly, “then, yes, I am. And it happens to be the only issue my mother and I don’t quarrel over.” Regina looked into her hands when she felt Emma’s stare too longing, too hungry. “And you?”

“Am I bisexual?” Emma narrowed her eyes at the vague inquiry before catching on in amusement. “Hell, no. I have too much of a preference.”

Regina could tell just by the intensity in Emma’s eyes which side of the sliding scale of sexuality she claimed a preference for. Regina brushed the tips of her fingers over her collar bone and felt her blood warming beneath. There was no blaming it on the summer heat, not this time. She didn’t think she’d ever been looked at the way Emma was looking at her now. She felt desired without being touched, and having been infatuated by confident nature rather than by charm of a spoken word. If this was not in fact a novel experience, it had to have been some time since she remembered the onslaught of desire and the impulse to act upon it.

Emma wanted to prove it to her, but held back. Regina’s decision to extend her stay in Woodstock proved an exciting turn of events. Although it was a surprise, considering Emma was already in a mindsight to move on. She tread carefully around her feelings for Regina like she did at Cora’s party. The girl she sat and talked with proved a below average distraction, a meager substitute.

Not knowing what would happen as a consequence to the afternoon Emma had painstakingly planned, she had to ask.

“Are you leaving?”

Regina didn’t answer right away. She plucked a blade a grass and curled it around her finger. Fidgeting was not a habit of hers. “You were with a woman at the party Sunday night. Who is she?” The green thread between her fingers held her entire focus.

“What does that have to do with you leaving Woodstock?”

Maybe everything, Regina thought. Her eyes rose, intense and a little annoyed. “Our questions parallel each other, don’t they? Mine is just as fair as yours,” she pointed out, like it was a competition.

Although seeing the blonde with another woman the night before upset her for inexplicable reasons, Regina was not deterred. As a lawyer who saw through more victories than defeat she had an insatiable need to acquire whatever was within her grasp. And if it wasn’t then she worked damn well hard to extend her reach. Needing and wanting were two different things, but rarely did they define each other. It was not always the case that one wanted what they knew was good for them, what was compulsory. For Regina, Emma was that compulsory thing she _yearned_ to grasp. And unlike most power hungry lawyers, she didn’t want merely because of value. The details, that’s why she wanted Emma. The little contours written in her face, the bumbling in her stride, her sarcastic lip, and the persistent but incongruous need to guard the past.

If Emma expended as much effort as Regina in prioritizing her needs she was making it look dreadfully simple. The ease with which Emma went about everything – dressing, sheriffing, making friends, flirting – aggravated every bone in Regina’s body. And not a hint was offered as to what Emma thought, what she felt. Either she had a decent poker face or Regina really was out of her league (an unacceptable notion).

_Who is she?_

_Are you leaving?_

_Does the one depend on the other?_

If the expression on her face failed to say it, Emma clarified by looming forward and taking Regina’s chin between her fingers. Stalled by exquisite beauty, Emma brushed her thumb below the full bottom lip. It was soft and yielding to her and her alone. The last thought on her mind before cutting off the gasp was why she hadn’t done this sooner.

Before, when Emma was an indecipherable mixture of lines, Regina couldn’t perceive or fathom her thoughts. But with Emma's soft lips against hers she could hear everything and an answer. Emma was a hasty string of notions which harkened back to her overzealousness upon their first meeting. With their lips connected, soft and pressing, Emma was saying that “ _she”_ meant nothing and _Regina_ made her feel everything; that the Shakira-lookalike was but a distraction and a means to overcome what she felt about another woman leaving, an enchanting woman with a delicate, desirable mouth.

A moan escaped Regina at the answer held in the lips. They opened to hers as the complement in a tangle of tongues, and teeth, and clamor. In the span of a second’s gasp the kiss freed her mind of doubt and jealousy, leaving nothing behind but a two syllable plea of _Emma_.


	6. Chapter 6

All things considered, Regina took it well. Actually, that’s just what she told herself after the fact. At the time Emma’s lips were pressed achingly soft to hers she allowed her hands to wander a meandering path up the two arms encasing her waist. If time slowed before the kiss, it held little to no meaning when Emma followed through. Regina didn’t know how long it lasted. She remembered it starting slow; the tremble and pull of a moan from deep within her throat. She remembered that a weight pressed down inch by inch until her back fell against the blanket and Emma lay flush against her. It was slow, and then it was ravenous. Thereafter, Regina could only recall how supple leather yielded to her nails and the curved neck and all its vibrations under her lips.

First came pleasure, then came logic: Utterly ridiculous. Ludicrous. Disastrous. Yes. That’s what it was. A disaster. It was quite some time before the word vomit resembled something close to an actual thought process. It never occurred to Regina how utterly ridiculous making out with Emma was until much, much later. But by the time logic had struck, Regina was at Cora’s and repeatedly touching her lips in memory or maybe to assure her that they were still there, because with the way Emma had kissed her that day it wouldn’t be a surprise if they had been kissed off.

“Regina, dear, did you by any chance smoke some bad pot?”

The clank of a spoon shook Regina from her reverie. Her eyes dropped to the utensil settled in her bowl of oatmeal and then lifted to the speaker. “What?”

“You look like you’re a million miles away and then some.”

“She’s got a point.” Henry shared his grandmother’s concern in a furrowed brow.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Regina affirmed. She subsequently frowned, insulted by the insinuation that she was anywhere but here. “And I have not been smoking pot, bad quality or otherwise.”

“Maybe you should be.” Cora slurped from her coffee and darted her eyes elsewhere as if that evaded punishment.

Releasing her spoon, Regina pushed back her breakfast and settled back in her chair. Her chin downturned, she fixed the two pajama-clad Mills’ with a stern look. “What is going on here?”

The iconic Kit-Cat clock ticked in the background, its bulging eyes roving left and right in sync. Henry looked to Cora. Cora looked to him. They didn’t seem to agree on any one particular response based on their panicked expressions.

“Something,” replied Henry just as Cora coughed out, “ _Nothing_.”

There was a scuffle beneath the table, their tableware jumping momentarily. Henry hissed between clenched teeth.

Regina’s eyes narrowed further. Then, with a sickly sweet smile she asked, “How is Jordan, dear?”

The mention of Jordan flipped a switch in Henry. He recoiled and turned slightly in his chair as if he were preparing for an escape route. “Ah, she’s okay, I guess.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Um…” He started to fidget. “I think I’m all finished up here. May I be excused?”

Regina shrugged. “If you insist.”

He dashed away.

Cora looked from her grandson’s unfinished plate of blueberry pancakes to the scuff marks made on the stairs in haste. When she met Regina’s gaze her face fell into scrutiny as if she were trying to sort out these coincidences. It only lasted as long as she could take no notice of the chicken prancing on the kitchen island.

“Mother,” Regina kept her tone light and disinterested, “I have noticed the latch on the basement door has remained locked. Doing any light gardening these days?”

Cora froze. Slowly, very slowly she turned her head back, eyes clapping on her daughter as a last resort. “What was that, dear?” She cleared her throat of its sudden dry spell.

“The basement lock. _Gardening_.”

As with her grandson, some kind of Mills ‘suspicion switch’ was flipped. Her eyes bulged, mouth gaping and closing at a loss for defense. It only took a moment of speechlessness before it all came spilling out. “What do you mean?” she demanded scandalously. “I don’t do gardening. And when have I ever left the basement locked? You must be mistaken. In fact, I’m sure of it. It’s nothing to concern yourself over. I’m no gardener. I don’t lock basements. Why are you interrogating me? I’m out of here!”

The tail end of Cora’s panicked rant echoed from the stairwell. Regina didn’t even get a chance to snicker before the master bedroom door slammed shut and a desk drawer was torn apart as its occupant searched for a particular key to a particular lock.

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Regina quipped to herself, a grin displaying proudly on her face.

She knew her family’s triggers like the back of her hand. Litigator training came in handy these days.

Regina sidled back up to the table with elbows primly set on its surface, and raised her mug to her lips. Now she could enjoy her breakfast in peace.

* * *

Though Cora and Henry don’t know anything, the way they stared at her that morning made her seem liable. Regina couldn’t take it so she excused herself from the house.

She escaped up a grassy slope to a ledge set with bricks and overlooking the property. There she sat, wondering why she felt so guilty for kissing Emma. Technically, she was still married and some part of her felt compelled to honor their contract if only till the ink dried on their divorce.

But when was the last time she ever felt tied to him? For so long she felt the weight of that ring on her finger. Then, as if struck by revelation, she stopped wearing it and the sense of burden lifted. Now the pale mark around her finger was nothing but a scar she wished expelled from her body.

When had he last been overtaken with envy enough to steal her away from work so they could fool around in the privacy of their home? They never had fun anymore. Even with Henry around their time together felt laced with bitterness.

When had their house stopped being a home? It ceased to provide her the comfort she longed for all her life. Even Cora’s shack suppressed that alienation she felt every time she stepped through the door of her New York penthouse.

Regina could examine these questions like the lawyer she was using Socratic Method, listing motives, and presenting evidence, but it all came back to one person.

It wasn’t fair to Emma. She shouldn’t have given in to desires which were flowing rampant within her even before meeting Emma. The need to be touched, to be held, unfurled her grip on control. The urge to mine cavernous depths and cradle that tender essence in the palm of her hand spread like wildfire across her skin. And Emma, beautiful, spontaneous, kind-hearted Emma just intensified those feelings, making it that much more difficult for Regina to keep her insides from melting. Her strategy had worked for a time. She combated with scowls, snipes, and barbs when all hope seemed lost and Emma had all but wrapped tender fingers around her heart. And then Emma had to go and pull that idiotic stunt. Horseback riding to the lake, presenting a perfect lunch, and that damn look on Emma’s face before she kissed her. Stupid, stupid Emma, but so, so lovable. Such a good mouth which brought kisses and warmth to Regina’s icy, lonesome life.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Henry, what are you doing up here?”

“Just taking a walk. It’s nice out, isn’t it?”

She glanced at him, surprised. “I suppose. Since when do you take notice of the weather?”

“Since it’s been the deciding factor on whether or not I can go into town.”

“Jordan?”

Henry’s lips thinned. “She works for one of the co-op farms. Good weather equals good crops equals no free time.”

“And you’re bummed about that.”

“Bummed,” Henry repeated. Sometimes it disturbed him how his mom picked up the most random contemporary phrases. She tried way too hard, but he still loved her for it. “Yeah, you could say that. We’ve been hanging out every day, reading at the library, lunch at the café, sometimes we just walk through town. Boring stuff like that.”

“Mm-hm.”

Yes, Regina knew all about it. Boring stuff like stables and breakfast benches and picnics by the lake.

“She texted me last night and said she had to work early this morning. I told her to text me when she’s free, but she said she didn’t know when they’d be done at the farm.” Henry’s sigh was filled with frustration and newfound self-pity. He rested his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands and ducked his head down. He sighed again before looking out over the property. “It makes me think that I should probably get a part-time job or something. I’m fourteen and you’ve already been pushing me to do something at the firm. And then I start thinking about the city and how we have to go back.” Henry glanced at his mother who sat mutely. “We’re going back aren’t we?”

“Eventually, yes. It’s were we live.”

“But it’s not home anymore.”

Regina looked down at him, brow furrowed with concern. “Is that how you feel?”

“That’s how we all feel, Mom. Or haven’t you noticed that Dad moved out last week? Or that before then he was sleeping on the couch for, like, a year? Or that we’re here instead of there. It was you who decided to stay longer in Woodstock. Maybe you don’t want to go back, either.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Henry. We can’t escape our problems by dropping everything and starting somewhere else like nothing ever happened. I have a very important job in New York. You have school.” Regina gripped her hands together, tight enough for her nails to dig crescents into the skin. She breathed out, forcing herself to release the tension. “Won’t you miss your father?”

“This isn’t the Middle Ages, Mom. He’s a Skype call away.”

Something about that statement triggered suspicion. “You’ve talked to him, haven’t you?”

“ _I_ have. And I know by the way you dress that you haven’t been talking to him.”

“The way I dress?”

“Yeah. You’re wearing jeans and sneakers. You only wear comfortable, non-work clothes when Dad’s not around or you’re feeling particularly relaxed – which, I know, are one in the same. When he’s not around like this past week you feel like you don’t have to put up with appearances. You can breathe.” His face scrunched, hesitant to be the one to deliver such wisdom. “But I’m not divorcing him. You are. If you’re feeling guilty for not speaking to him, don’t let it be for my sake. I don’t expect you two to fake a friendship just for me. God knows you guys have been doing that for years.” At his mother’s jaw drop he quipped, “Don’t look so surprised. I’m fourteen, not blind. You guys seem to think I don’t notice what goes on in my own house. It’s kind of annoying.”

“This is…” Regina shook her head, eyes fluttering as if in an overwhelming fog, “… a little sudden. I-I didn’t know…”

“I _know_.” Henry shoulders sagged. “I probably should have told you this sooner. It would have saved us all a world of trouble.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Regina put her arm around him and squeezed his shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to speak up and provide evidence of your parent’s estrangement. It’s your father and I’s job to pay attention to your needs. We should have noticed how this was affecting you. I’m sorry I didn’t sooner, Henry. I really am.”

“Well, I’m not going to say that I’m not hurt or anything. I’m human and of course I wanted our family to work out.”

“Because of you, dear, we still are a family. You keep us all together and I’m so grateful for that.”

“You’re not mad at me for still being tied to Dad?”

“No,” Regina replied, shaking her head emphatically. “I may continue to be on civil terms with him, but we are tied to each other in a different way. Maybe in a better way because I don’t think we made very good parents together than we will separately. I can’t explain every reason for not wanting to stay married to him, but you must realize that your wellbeing means more to me than my own. If any aspect of my life, whether it be work or personal, is hurting you than I am compelled to do something about it. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“And you promise to tell your father and I when something about this new arrangement upsets you? I’m not saying it will, but if we’re prepared for either course then there is little basis for confusion. For everyone.”

“You’re such a lawyer, Mom.”

“I’m still going to need a verbal confirmation.”

“Yes,” he mustered as much suffering as possible into the groan, “I promise.”

They stayed sitting on the ledge, staring out in silence as the morning ebbed on. From their spot on the hill they could see the chickens fluttering in their coop and Cora lugging boxes to and from her shed. She made quick strides, head turning to and fro as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.

“What is she doing?” Henry frowned.

Regina was already shaking her head. “I have no idea.”

After a few seconds of wary observation they looked at one another and burst out laughing. They understood their hardship without having to say a word.

“So what now?”

Sharing in a bit of the unease, Regina examined the youthful appeal in her son. He may be approaching dating age and a phase where he’d be asking to drive the car every minute of the day, but he still looked to her for advice, still craved a ‘mothers know best’ outlook on life.

“I honestly don’t know.” She felt the weight of that statement and all its uncertainty plummet to her gut.

Henry shifted on the ledge, bringing his hands under his thighs and leaning forward. “Grandma Cora is nice,” he stated, like he was reading it from a script. “But she can be kind of a pain sometimes.”

“Try living with her for eighteen years.”

He chuckled, finding that image _very_ hard to imagine. “I’d rather not. I respect your years in servitude, though. I don’t know how you survived it.”

“Perhaps when you’re of a more appropriate age I will disclose the secret.”

“Aw, Mom, you can’t tell me that and expect me to go on without some kind of incentive! Give me something!”

Regina sucked her bottom lip before coming out with it. “Alright, I may have succumbed to your grandmother’s lifestyle on _one_ occasion.”

“By lifestyle do you mean…” Henry pinched his thumb and index finger together, pressed them to his lips, and inhaled.

Regina winced. Too late to go to her grave with _that_ particular secret.

She nodded reluctantly while Henry went into a fit of laughter. He clapped her on the shoulder and jostled it like she was his ‘pal.’ Regina simply dropped her forehead into her hand. She would be hearing about this for eternity, no doubt. Shame didn’t adequately cover what she was feeling now.

“Knowing this does not give you license to make the same mistakes I did.” Regina leveled a stern look at him. “Is that clear?”

“Not only is it clear, it is so far out, Mom.”

Regina rolled her eyes.

When the giggles died down Henry cleared his throat to set the story straight. “So Sheriff Swan and you…”

The name sent a pleasant tremor through Regina. Hearing it now felt like coming home after a long day at work. She jerked her head up and around to gaze questioningly at her son. “Who?”

Henry cocked his head and subscribed to a look that said _Yeah, I know you heard me._

“What _about_ Sheriff Swan?” Even Regina could hear the alternate demand in her own voice, the _What do you know and why aren’t you telling me this very minute?_

“She’s cool, isn’t she? Jordan and I always see her ordering coffee at that café. She says it’s for her interns. I don’t get why she goes out of her way to do that for _interns_ , but who knows? Maybe she hopes to bump into someone at the café. Your guess is as good as mine.” He stifled the smirk and made quickly to cover his tracks. “Because you’re a girl and everything.”

“… I am,” Regina drawled suspiciously. Boys and their perspective. They thought women were this great enigma when they were really just as complicated as men. Sometimes even women didn’t have a clue what made their own gender tick. If they did Regina wouldn’t be at a loss for how to approach Emma next time they saw each other.

“Anyway, Emma chips in a few bucks for our drinks, so I guess I won’t complain how she spends her money.”

“That’s very nice of her.”

“She says she’ll keep going with her generous streak as long as Jordan and I call her ‘Emma’ and not ‘Sheriff Swan.’” His face scrunched. “Apparently, these small towns have a thing about calling their officials by first name.”

“I have noticed that, yes.” Sidling up on the ledge and affirming her stance with a rigid back, Regina stripped the curious out of her voice. “What else does Sher – I mean, Emma say?”

The peak of his mother’s tone didn’t go unnoticed. Based on her pursed lips and strained eye contact, her effort was no match for her attraction to Emma. The curious came off her in waves.

“She thinks you’re beautiful.”

Regina’s breath caught. She couldn’t tell if Henry was trying to keep things light or if he meant to offer his blessing. Neither seemed to be in his job description. He’s just a child, Regina thought to herself. My child.

“W-why would she tell you such a thing? How did this even come up in conversation?”

“Emma and I were talking. You _obviously_ came up as a topic because Emma _obviously_ likes you. Don’t overthink it, Mom. If I were concerned about a sheriff pursing you we would not be having this conversation in the town the sheriff oversees.”

“I do like your protective side,” Regina cooed at him, smoothing the backs of her fingers over his cheek.

“Okay,” as all grown boys would, he started to ease away from the contact, “but let’s just recap: there’s no reason for concern. Emma fancies you and you fancy her. That’s really all I need or want to hear on that front. No details, please.”

“Unfortunately, the same does not go for you and Jordan. I have to know where you are, how long you plan to be out, and in what condition you are returned in. No drugs, no sex, no hang outs where there’s no cell phone service –“

“Ugh. Really, Mom? We’ve had this talk!”

“Yes, we’ve discussed these points before, but not when you had a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends. Hence I don’t need The Talk.”

“But you do want to date her, or am I completely grasping at straws here?” Regina grinned wickedly as the blood rose to his cheeks. “You _fancy_ her.”

The teasing in her tone only deepened his blush. “Come on. I didn’t make fun of you and Emma.”

“Emma and I are just friends.”

Henry confronted her pointed look with one of his own. “Yeah,” he challenged, “I guess like Jordan and I are just friends.”

They both seemed to concern themselves with each other’s happiness. It went without saying. They approved with subtle touches and a held look in the eyes. Henry understood her more than she realized. He took what he knew and used it to navigate her walls so he could fortify them himself against those that would wish her harm. Realization of this affected Regina without warning. It was like a fluffy cloud rising within her, molding its silver lining to every corner of her soul. Regina felt light and protected and so very proud of the man Henry was becoming.

“You really like her, don’t you?” Regina was careful how she used the next word. One minute she had her son in her arms and the next he would be running after someone else. “Jordan.”

Uh-oh, Henry thought. He knew that voice. “I hope you’re not going to give me The Speech.”

“The Speech,” Regina reiterated, brow rising for effect. Of course she knew exactly what he meant.

“The ‘Oh, I remember when you fit in my arms and you hung on my finger with your tiny, kissable fingers. You wouldn’t let go and I don’t plan on letting you.’” Henry cocked his head sullenly as if he went over this on a daily basis. “ _That_ speech.”

Regina had to hand it to her son, after years of practice he sure got her voice down pat. He mimed her perfectly with just the right amount of awe in his voice and flutter of his lashes.

A dazzling smile split Regina’s face as she chuckled and ran a hand through his wind-tousled hair. “I love you.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. I’m practically an adult. You gotta ditch the baby voice, Mom.”

“Never. And fourteen is not ‘practically an adult.’ As far as I’m concerned you’re my baby forever.”

A frustrated sigh escaped him as he succumbed to the two-armed embrace. He felt the kisses pepper the crown of his head like machine gun fire and his eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets. Good grief.

“You should go to her,” Regina finally settled. She let him go. “Nothing ever comes from sulking.”

“But she’s working. She wouldn’t want me to just barge in.”

Regina smiled and took hold of him again. She whispered close to his ear.

Quirking his brow, Henry listened intently. Slowly, his eyes began to widen. He stared dumbstruck at her as she leaned away, quite content. Surely his mom couldn’t be suggesting…?

Regina chuckled and stood. “And with that, I’ll leave you to consider.”

She strode down the hill, smirking.

* * *

The sun dipped low in the sky, near minutes from touching the tallest apple tree. Dozens of trees made up the orchard, bearing the juiciest, most delectable fruit in upstate New York. Pickers still labored late in the day, lightweight bags strapped to their bodies and marred with sweat from the endurance it took to reap these ruby gems.

One such picker still perched on her ladder and lugged a bag full of fruit in her pockets. Henry spotted her from far away. Tamping the pangs of nervousness, he made strides in her direction.

“Hey, Jordan!”

“Henry,” she glanced down at him, “what are you doing here? I thought you said your grandma needed help with one of her art things today?”

“I did? Oh, yeah, I did.” He tilted his head and looked up at her with a hesitant smile. “But I’m done now if you want to do something.”

“I’ve still got this whole zone to finish. And I have to hurry before the sun goes down.”

He sighed, scratching his head. Jordan may have no problem ditching class, but she had a great work ethic. It’s one of her most endearing traits, even if it kept her away from him.

“You weren’t this conscientious when that librarian chased us out the other day,” Henry pointed out.

Jordan paused, remembering how her magazine vandalism had finally drawn the attention of library staff.

“And you’ve been apple picking all day long. I’m sure whoever you work for will understand your need for food and relaxation.”

“Food and relaxation?”

“I thought we could get something to eat,” Henry’s eyes shifted as he plucked at his jeans with his right hand, “as like a dinner, you know?”

“Okay… and the relaxation?”

“There’s this midnight showing at the cinema. I thought we could see a movie, hang out…”

Jordan stared. To Henry it felt like ages because by the time she spoke he felt himself flinch a bit in response.

She shrugged. “Okay.”

Henry blinked, his mind trying to catch up with the decision. “Huh?” he asked vaguely, watching her descend the ladder.

“What did you have in mind for dinner?”

This was way too easy, Henry thought. To be on the safe side, he replied, “Ladies choice.”

That certainly assured him the smile he needed. With a little bump of her shoulder to his, the tension that had been building from the moment he left Cora’s diffused so easily it was as if it hadn’t been there at all.

“So you’re sure no one will get mad that you’re ditching early?”

Jordan chuckled. “For a moment there I thought I was a poor influence on you.”

“Hey, I mean, who cares if you ditch. Psh, I don’t.”

Her laugh carried. “Wherever you got this spontaneity I like it.”

Warm hand clasped in hers, Henry succumbed to newfound esteem for a mother’s advice.

* * *

The sumptuous grasp of her hand combined with the way green eyes glazed over told Regina this was a line Emma wanted to cross with her very much.

“I-I haven’t been… well, _intimate_ with my husband,” Regina admitted slowly, the words heavy like syrup on her tongue.

Emma smiled. “You can say it, you know? Making love.”

“Not in some time.”

“But you’d like to be?”

Regina had asked herself that many times. The question had been rattling around in her mind for so long that it became inconsequential. The answer seemed obvious to Emma from the expression on the woman’s face.

Not for a long time. Not with him.

“ _Please_.”

Emma’s hands took her and lips obeyed

… Or that’s how it happened in her head.

Regina shook off the daydream like a tree branch would a dusting of snow. If any of that were to actually become reality she had to get out of the car in the next century.

Dispelling any lingering traces of doubt, she pulled her key from the ignition and got out of her car. The time it took her to walk from her car up to the house was spent clearing her throat and curling a lock of hair behind her ear. The whole process went undetected, but if it hadn’t she would have berated herself into a frenzy, thereby putting off this meeting further. Thankfully, she didn’t notice her fidgeting. Her mind raced with what she would say when the door was answered.

Breath quickening, Regina knocked on the door.

The brass knocker jostled when the door swung open. Emma appeared from behind, her surprise evident.

Regina searched the swirling green eyes for a hint, a clue, anything that could foil her intentions. She swallowed hard; at the back of her mind she feared it was audible enough to be noticed. And then, like the rush of a windstorm, she discharged her purpose for appearing so suddenly on Emma’s doorstep. “Is that offer to tour your home still on the table?” Her breath hung immobile in her lungs.

Emma gawked for a moment, but only a moment. Wordlessly, she took Regina by the hand and tugged her inside, their fingers intertwined.

* * *

Back at the house Cora wandered around for some time. It was nearly eleven at night, she was wired, and she needed someone to talk to. It irked her that the only echoes to her calls were the floorboard squeaks underfoot. On the porch, up the stairs, the second floor hallway, the dining room, the kitchen… Every space appeared to be empty.

By the time she completed the search she was standing in the middle of the living room, arms spread. There, she came to a startling conclusion.

“What, is everyone getting laid but me?!” 


	7. Chapter 7

The full moon appeared luminous in the late night sky. Regina tilted her head to catch the beams on her face and sighed happily. Henry was already in bed reading and Cora had a congregation to manage. Everyone was off doing what they did best. They were out of her hair and Regina luxuriated in the solitude. From her cozy chair on the porch she sipped her wine and observed the festivities with languid interest.

That night marked one of the town’s lunar rituals attended by a gathering of like-minded women and led by Cora Mills, of course. Regina didn’t know much about what occurred during these rituals besides fire and dancing, but she could get the gist from her place on the porch.

For her viewing choice, six ladies waved their arms and jiggled their hips as they danced around the crackling fire pit. Their movements were convulsive and uncoordinated – essentially what happens when you mix tequila with half a dozen free spirited women. The only music they moved to was from their own voices, howling and crying prayers to their moon goddess.

Regina had tried but there was no tuning out the hoarse cries. Instead, she allowed the heat of alcohol to settle in as she stared off into memory. Slowly, she sank into the cushion and gave herself over to the river-like pull. The first thing to arise from this liquid current came in the form of billowing blonde hair, deft hands and lips, cries, tears, exhalations, and peace. Emma… she was grace like no one would expect, a kind of grace all her own. She proved to be an experienced lover, not in the number of partners she took but in her ability to listen and learn from her encounters. She was patient enough to guide Regina along and willing to keep up when it all came rushing back to Regina. All the ways in which to pleasure a woman seemed inconsequential before that night.

Even when it lacked grace there was plenty of laughter and teasing. Forgiveness came in the form of kisses and stimulation in a request. For Regina, being with Emma was a lot of things: slow and timid, terrifying and misguided, furious and commanding. But underlying it all was passion, because there was excitement in the exploration, in the getting to know.

That had been yesterday, but to Regina the minutes felt like hours and the hours like months of getting acquainted with Emma, her body, and everything in between. In reality these months of familiarity were but the culmination of a few hours. A night – that was all it amounted to on a conventional scale. In the time it took the planet to rotate a few dozen degrees Regina had come to know Emma inside and out. In a world peopled by the billions, only two shared something so intimate and so unique to their humanity that it could not compare nor be replicated.

What Regina had that night with Emma was special not just for them but for Regina as an individual. Through this woman she learned to sweep away the façade that kept everyone at arm’s length. Stripped bare, Regina could love and see herself for the woman she always wanted to be seen as, not as the unapproachable attorney at law but as the warm friend of justice. She had helped a great many clients get what they were owed, but rarely did her job allow her to accept gratitude for it. In a lawyer’s realm, display of emotion was unacceptable. It wasn’t to be consumed but to be manipulated for purposes of victory. Now, Woodstock changed things. Her mother changed things. Emma was opening her eyes. Now, Regina felt that she could accept much more of the world and the people in it than ever before.

The wild shouts had died down and Regina could tell that the ritual was slowing as well. Someone added a few logs to encourage the flames. With a curious sniff, Regina leaned out of her chair. The women were arranging lawn chairs in a circle around the fire pit and proceeded to pass around objects. Regina couldn’t tell but they looked shiny and small enough to fit in the palm of one’s hand.

The laughter and shouting continued for a while, and before she could stop herself, Regina got out of her chair and started walking across the lawn. Wine glass in hand, she flipped her hair back and inhaled the calming scent of scorched kindling. After the years she spent as a child hiding out in her room trying to tune out the crazy in her backyard and after another couple of years absconding in New York, she was finally coming out to join Cora and her gang.

“Regina,” her mother greeted, “I’m so sorry. Were we making too much of a raucous?”

The well-meaning caused her to blink back her alarm. “O-oh, not at all. I was wondering if I you had room for one more.”

Happiness like Regina had never seen before lit up Cora’s face. Pressing her hands together as if in prayer, Cora tempered them to her trembling lips. She looked like she was about to weep and that made Regina want to backpedal into the house.

As only a mother could, Cora sensed her daughter’s unease and would have none of it. “Of _course_ there’s room. We would love for you join us! Isn’t that right?”

“Come join us, Regina!”

“There’s plenty of fun to go around!”

“It’ll be marvelous!”

“A true girls’ night!”

“It’s settled.” Cora relinquished her chair and started towards the house. “I’ll just be a moment. I want to replenish our drink supply!”

As her mother sprinted off, Regina raised a finger. “But I have –“

A woman to her right – a neighbor whom always invited little Regina over to bake – substituted the glass of wine in her hand with a shot glass. Once invited to take Cora’s chair, Regina looked around at the women who were hardly strangers. They all had known Regina and she them through her childhood growing up in Woodstock. It hardly seemed to bother them, though, that she had left without a farewell and neglected to keep in contact the 23 years she had been away.

From her left was passed a bottle of tequila. The second she saw the label she was already shaking her head. “Oh… no, I don’t think…”

“We’re all in this together, dear heart.” To her right, Lucille patted her down with a hand to her arm. “Just like when we baked those pies, you and me.”

“Only no pies and with the added factor of liquor,” said someone in the circle.

Lucille’s shoulders came up to touch her ears as she sniggered from ear to ear. Regina, trying to match the smile, just raised her eyebrows up in acknowledgment.

“Lucille’s losing the game,” explained Doris to her left. “Smashed out of her pretty damn mind.”

“Game?”

“All the kids are playing it these days. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“And what is this game called?”

“Have You Ever,” replied someone from across the fire pit.

“No, no, no!” cried one of the ladies. “It’s Have You Never.”

“I _know_ what it’s called,” the other woman said testily. “And I say it’s Have You Ever.”

“No, you’re mistaken.”

“I. Am. Not.”

“Quiet down! Quiet down!” Doris shouted, flapping her hands at the bickering duo. “Let’s ask Regina.” She turned to Regina, hands clasped in her lap. “You’re the youngest of the bunch. What do you call the game?”

The ladies around the fire all seemed to fixate on a single target. Regina shrunk a bit in her chair and said, “I am not entirely confident but I’ve overheard my son talk about something called ‘Never Have I Ever.’”

“Oh.”

“Well.”

Doris snickered at the two women. “It appears _both_ of you were mistaken.”

Everyone went into uproarious laughter. Regina found it hard not to join in.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s play!”

“Slow down there, Lucille. We have to get Cora’s daughter up to speed on the game’s rules.” Doris poured a liberal dose of tequila into Regina’s glass and saluted the rest of them with a raise of the bottle. “I’ll go first as an example. Everyone groovy?”

“Groovy!” they hailed in tune.

Eyes shifting hesitantly, Regina lagged behind with a feeble “Yes.”

“Okay,” Doris started. “Never have I ever skinny dipped in the ocean!”

“That’s too easy, Doris!”

“Aw, what a cheater!”

“No fair, Dori!”

Doris held back the chuckle. “Pipe down and drink up!” The sober woman to her right caught her eye and she gave her a shoulder bump. “What’s wrong, Regina?”

“It seems you aren’t the only one who has never swum unclothed in the ocean.”

“Hmm.”

“She’s telling the truth, Doris,” Lucille came to her defense with a slur. “She’s a lawyer. She can’t lie.”

One of them shook their head. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Luc.”

“But Justice is honest!”

“You mean Justice is blind.”

“Yeah, same thing.”

They all gave quiet murmurs of disagreement.

“So what do you say, Regina? Can you dig it?”

Regina scanned their eager faces. “I think I can manage it.”

“She digs it!” called one of them. “Now my turn! Never have I ever regretted a tattoo.”

A few tipped their drinks back. Regina could account for only one tattoo and that one she could never regret.

Someone else stood up for their turn and shushed them to silence. “Never have I engaged in a ménage à trois.” Before anyone could respond she added cheekily, “But that doesn’t mean I never wanted one!”

“Romantic or sexual?” asked Doris.

“Sexual, of course.”

Shrugging, Regina lifted the shot to her lips and devoured it in one gulp.

“Whoa! Regina!”

“Right on!”

“You take that shot!”

They all exclaimed with proud smiles on their faces. Whether it was a result of her complacency in the game or her clear admittance to participating in a threesome Regina didn’t know.

She shrugged again, blushing to the tips of her ears and grinning against the lip of her shot glass. Only one shot in and she was starting to get sucked into this wicked little game.

Cora returned with more tequila, but upon realizing there were no more chairs left, she left them again with a promise to take a turn at the game.

Regina settled back in comfort as she watched her neighbors and her mother’s friends discuss the previous game question. Since they began the game, Regina refused profusely when the opportunity rounded to her. Little by little her resolve was thawing in the heat of the fire. The tequila was giving her an upsurge of courage. There didn’t seem much too lose if she did take a turn. Dignity, perhaps, but they were in this together, right?

During a lull in the chatter, Regina stood up, stumbling a bit as she did so, and gestured with her glass in the air. “ _Never_ ,” she intoned boldly, cutting the silence like a knife through butter, “have I ever slept with the same woman twice in the same day,” and as if to knock them all on their asses, she added, “before yesterday.” Technically, it was way more than twice if she was counting orgasms, but she wasn’t about to quibble over semantics.

For a brief moment the crickets chirped and the firewood popped and crackled. Then, there came an explosion of enthusiasm.

“Da-yum!”

“No way, Jose!”

“That is so disco!”

“Regina, tell us who it is!”

“Yes! Who’s the lucky dame?”

“What happens in the circle stays in the circle.”

“Yes, we promise not to tell!”

Regina licked the tequila from her lips while the rest of her new friends were left to hang in anticipation. She leaned forward, eyes half-lidded and heavy, and purred the two words she’d be damned if they didn’t send a shock of arousal straight between her legs. “Sheriff. Swan.”

“Oh, Regina, that’s very progressive of you.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have thought…”

“She’s sheriff,” Regina described indignantly, “not the President.”

Doris exchanged a look with a few of her friends. She then cast the young woman an unreadable expression. “It’s not that we don’t approve. You won’t find a more accepting group of individuals than you see here. However…” she frowned, turning the words over in her head before committing them to speech, “well, did Cora not tell you?”

Regina tried a smile but it fell flat. “Tell me what?”           

Doris pursed her lips. She looked to her friends and when they all gave her the nod she explained, “Well, sweetie, we’re surprised that you should take up relations with the sheriff because… um, well, because your mother did have an affair with Emma.”

* * *

“Ooouch!”

The wrench clattered to the ground and lay forgotten as Emma brought a well-bruised thumb to her lips. She stomped her foot, cringing, and wagged her injured hand in midair.

“Son of a bitch!” she shouted and kicked the front bumper.

Jostling to the abuse, the VW Bug gave a subtle whimper of metal scraping metal.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that…” She patted the faded yellow paint “You’re just too good for me, that’s all. I don’t deserve a nice car like you.”

After the third loving pat she was struck by the reality of her behavior and proceeded to chortle. Her deputy was right; she had to stop treating her car like a pet. Technically, it was a sort of pet _project_ , something she had been reconditioning for years now. If she had an unlimited bank account things would be different. The maintenance was expensive as the parts of a VW Beetle were hard to come by these days. Despite living in Woodstock, New York Emma was one of the few who still drove a classic.

Her hands were stained with grease and she smelled like the inside of an exhaust pipe, but her baby was worth it. It had been in her possession for years. She trolled around the east coast with it and ended waylaid in New York between pedestrians and big yellow taxis. No one there had an appreciation for old cars, at least not the banana yellow, semi-reliable kind. She remembered with irritation the several instances her car was mistaken for a taxi. Thursday nights driving through campus were not fun.

With a sigh, Emma patted her hands down on her oil-stained, faded blue jeans and bent down to pick up the wrench. She relinquished the rag from her back pocket, dabbed the sweat from her brow, and returned it to her pocket. Thank god she did repairs in her garage where the sun didn’t beat down on her the whole time. Her tattered AC/DC t-shirt kept things cool, too.

A trill dragged Emma from worrying about the heat. She picked up her cell phone and cradled it to her shoulder so she’d have get use out of both hands.

“Sheriff Swan, here!”

Her hands moved deftly inside the hood. After enduring ten plus years in service to this adorable piece of crap (not the other way around) she knew every hose, belt, and cap by touch. She nodded silently to the caller while splitting her focus between the voice and the repairs. Multitasking had always been a skill of hers – as long as cars were involved.

“Yeah, I know I said I’d be late, but it looks like this is gonna take a while. I’ll be away from the station until noon, I think. Can you take care of things for me?”

She twisted her wrench a few times but when it clanked against a metal cylinder she strained to hear what her obsessive compulsive assistant was whining about on the other line. “Are you saying I should just take the cruiser? No can do. Our deputy has it.” She hunkered deeper under the hood to check the leak. She frowned upon feeling liquid run down her fingers. “Why? Because he asked for it and I’m nice enough to lend it to him. Anyway, I’m not at the station right now, so it’s not like I need it.”

There was more quibbling from the other line.

“Of course that’s why I’m late. Where else would I be?”

The next insinuation made her head jerk up.

“Mother fu –“ Wincing, she braced a hand to the back of her head. Pain seared all along her skull. She glared at the underside of the hood. “No, I wasn’t with her. What makes you think I would be anywhere near her?”

It didn’t take long for her assistant to come up with a response. Besides, anything he could have come up with would have earned him something snarky and defensive. Sure enough…

Emma brought the phone from her ear to her mouth and spoke crystal clear into the receiver, “Small town my ass.”

She hung up and tossed it aside. She made a mental note to pile more duties onto her assistant when she got to the station later. Really, did he have nothing better to do than gossip about her and the new visitor in town? No one needed to know Cora’s daughter was seeing the sheriff, not unless Regina was okay with everyone knowing their business. Emma had a sixth sense about these things. This lawyer was the type to keep things under wraps when and where it suited her needs. Regina liked things to happen on her own schedule, which Emma had no qualms about. It’s what made them compatible in her eyes. In the past 48 hours she had come to know a different side of Regina.

They were more alike than expected. Like Regina, Emma knew what it was like to live outside Woodstock. She understood how the outside world operated. It wasn’t until a few years ago that she had had enough of the city. She found Woodstock and the people a fresh scene where should could create a home. However, there had always been a war within her. Emma felt torn between two worlds, one that alienated her simple nature and the other which welcomed her a little too much for comfort.

Much like Regina, Emma kept all the personal things that made her unique to herself. She was not an open person but reserved with her feelings. Her outward antics were just to make others comfortable. That’s the way Emma had always been: molding her personality to everyone but her own. Yet for as much effort spent on this façade, the corners she’d made for herself didn’t fit so seamlessly. She didn’t fit in anywhere, it seemed. She shared only what was necessary and preserved the rest to herself.

Until one fine afternoon brought Regina to her doorstep.

Euphemisms aside, Emma fit in with that woman. Regina accepted her, flaws and all. She could trip through her own house and spill wine all over herself and Regina would just undress her and screw her seven ways come sunrise. Emma knew this to be indisputable because it had happened the night before.

Oh, how good had it been to bask in the crook of her neck and be held like there was no other place on earth as good as this. Regina could be so tender – when she wanted to, of course. Even between the sheets she had to have everything on her schedule. But when her resolve faltered, when Emma managed to reach that spot that made her fall into a blithering mess of shudders and nonsensical cries, Regina’s almighty schedule shattered like brittle glass. When all was said and done, Emma found Regina to be utterly indescribable because she didn’t know they made women like that. Ever.

Emma shook her head wryly as she continued her repairs. She wondered if Regina understood what her staying over that night meant to her. Maybe not. They had only met a week ago, despite sharing things they considered too personal for others’ ears. Between their numerous love making sessions, Regina had shown more patience and understanding with her than anyone Emma laid eyes on. It’s what made that night so special to her, so ineffably unique in all the thousand mundane nights of her life.

Emma never knew her parents and grew up one foster family at a time so the sense of ‘home’ was not very clear to her at a young age. At 18, New York became a playground for testing her new bounds of freedom. Woodstock had been her clean slate, a place where she could make something of herself without having to answer to anyone. A place she could build her own meaning of family.

Emma was star struck upon meeting Regina. This gorgeous attorney swept in like a New York breeze, treading all over her toes, demanding manners from her, and making her dumb and clumsy with just a flick of her silky smooth hair. Suffice it to say, Emma had been a bit overzealous to think she had a chance with this rock star of a woman. But Emma wanted nothing more than a chance to prove her ungainly ways could make Regina happy. It certainly worked that night when Regina’s slim fingers were popping the buttons on her burgundy stained shirt.

Images of that night flashed before her eyes. The memories made her tremble, made her gasp, and soon her knees shook to a point where she thought they’d buckle under her.

Her reminiscing became overshadowed by the sound of an engine. The sound loomed closer, so Emma put down her tools and prepared for her guest by cleaning her hands off on a rag.

The Mercedes ground to a halt, tires digging into the gravel with a devastating crunch. The front windshield had a slight tint to it, so the driver couldn’t be seen. That was, until Regina stepped out and marched towards Emma.

Emma seemed beyond concern over the dark circles under her eyes or the scowl lines around her mouth. She didn’t notice the things she should have because Regina was there and that’s all that mattered. The joy couldn’t be contained as Emma beamed at this unexpected visit. She opened her mouth to share her delight, but was stopped when a hand unleashed itself and connected with the side of her face.

A resounding slap echoed. Emma stumbled back, looking on her attacker with wide eyes.

“ _Liar_.”

The stillness of it, not the word itself; that was what sent a shiver through Emma. Regina’s eyes were so full of darkness they showed nothing of what Emma had seen the past week. There wasn’t a trace of the fond, teasing, passionate woman she had come to fall over her heels for. Regina was so electrified with ire the hairs on Emma’s skin stood up.

“You wretched liar.”

“Regina, what are you talking about?”

“You slept with my mother.”

Regina’s lip curled over the words that felt just as revolting on her tongue as they did to her ears. Betrayal invaded her so deeply she thought her heart would bleed. When she felt the first prick it dawned on her, the cruelty that which had been inflicted. When the fumes of ash and fire tickled her nose all she could think of was vengeance, but there were reasons to proceed cautiously. Alcohol made her overly confident and emotional, and the latter she couldn’t allow Emma to see. Regina didn’t need to look teary-eyed and trembling, but angry and ready to tear the woman to pieces.

She didn’t even think to confront her mother. After finding out she walked right past Cora who lugged a heavy porch chair behind her. Regina didn’t speak a word to her, nor did she give reply. She went straight to her room and locked herself in. Nausea prevented her from eating. Nightmares and half-hearted wishes kept her wide awake. There were too many conflicting emotions boiling within her. Come morning all she needed was to see Emma’s face so she could slap it.

How impossible it seemed before to feel so much disdain for one person much less two. Her own mother, and Emma who stood there looking like some wounded swan.

Emma cradled her cheek in her palm while working her jaw. Tears sprung to her eyes, tears she asserted with the sting and nothing more. “Oh,” she exhaled and looked down, “that.”

“Oh, that?” Regina brought her hands to her hips and stepped forward. Something lethal glinted in her eyes. “ _Oh_ … _that_?” she growled, an angry glow blooming across her face. “What the hell do those words mean? Because when someone gets caught conning another into their bed the appropriate response is not ‘oh, that.’ So you take it back, Emma Swan, and explain yourself or so help me…”

“Please.” Emma squinted, raising her hands up in defense. “Don’t hit me again.”

“If you think I have any reservations about getting violent on a second rate sheriff you are sorely mistaken. What you did to me deserves more than a slap on the cheek.”

“I resent the second rate part. As for not getting more than I deserve, yes, you’re probably right about that. I should have told you before we slept together.”

“Before we slept together? How about before I –“ _started having feelings for you_ she was about to say, but immediately pressed her lips together. She would not give in now. Her caring about Emma and her need to strangle her were knotted up in a bundle of confliction. Emma would not get to see her vulnerable now after everything she knew, everything she had been told in confidence. “You should have told me from the start. After all, you were the one who wanted to become friends. Tell me, is this how you imagined it? Do you establish all your friendships on a bed of deceit? Because that is exactly what you accomplished. Only now there is no friendship. You’ve lost this friend and all you have to sleep with are fallacies. I hope you’re happy.”

“You want to talk about _relationships_?” Emma tightened her jaw despite the blow it received earlier. She jabbed a finger at Regina’s chest and said, “You think you know people so well, but you can’t even see past your own bitterness over Cora. Face the facts, Regina. It happened a long time ago. You’re getting divorced now,” she flourished her hand in the air, “so whatever inadequacies she condemned the guy for and whatever reasons she had for not showing up to the wedding don’t matter much anymore. But guess what? She ended up being right. You may have been happy, but you weren’t happy _enough_. It’s the marriages established on convenience that end up in shambles. You said it yourself.”

“You have got nerve, using my words against me. I told you things about my marriage because I thought I was safe. You were supposed to support me, not lie to my face.”

“What the hell was I supposed to say?” Emma cried out, arms springing out and dropping to her thighs. “That there was a moment ten years ago I had a fling with your mother? I was new in town. I didn’t know anyone. I barely had a job. She welcomed me into her home and –“

“And what? She just consoled you?”

“It didn’t mean anything – to either of us. I hardly knew who I was back then; I was so lost. You have to know how vulnerable a person is when they have nothing and no one while feeling completely alienated in a new world.” Emma stole a breath to slow down her rant. She rubbed at her forehead, ignorant of the grease still coating her fingers. She shrugged and shook her head like she had nothing else to lose. “Who I am today has nothing to do with Cora or whatever you _assumed_ happened between us. You feel so betrayed that I was dishonest about a night’s history with Cora, but I’m let down that you wouldn’t give me the benefit of the doubt. You didn’t ask me, Regina. You assumed that my feelings for you were a mediocre copy of what you _thought_ I felt for someone else; that everything I’ve done since we’ve met has been a part of some scam to get you in my bed.”

Emma’s voice trembled because she didn’t understand why it was so hard for Regina to misinterpret the time they spent together and the intimacy that curtailed. The horseback riding was to spark a pleasant memory for Regina, who probably hadn’t seen a horse since she was Henry’s age. The pastrami sandwiches were a means to ease whatever doubts she had about being away from home. And although the kiss hadn’t been on Emma’s initial agenda, the lips opening hotly to hers verified that her spontaneity was definitely acceptable. Still, Regina decided to gloss over all the fun they had shared for one stupid night Emma hardly remembered.

The tightness in Emma’s throat persisted. To conceal any trace of sadness, she approached the woman’s personal space with livid concern. “You fucking assume too much, Regina. Do you think so little of me – and of your mother, for that matter – that you would throw our friendship out the window? You, the upstanding lawyer, who has pinned me as this sleazy offender wouldn’t afford me my god given right to defend my actions?” For a split-second Regina’s face contorted into something that might have broached remorse if she committed long enough. But it only lasted a second. Emma lurched forward, her breath stirring brunette strands. What came next was stressed with more feeling than intended. “When in absolute honesty, what I feel for my _friend_ , Cora, doesn’t begin to scrap the surface of what I feel for you.”

Regina turned her gaze anywhere but glassy green eyes. “Did you memorize that speech after you met me at the party? Or was it when you heard I was coming to town?”

“God damn it, Regina,” growled Emma. She turned her back, angrily, before whirling around. “If you’re doing this because you’re afraid…”

“I gave you my trust. I gave you _everything_.” Regina croaked on the end of it just before her throat argued against it. In truth, she had given Emma everything. She let herself just be Regina, stripped of the lawyer persona. With Emma she wasn’t a wife or a mother, but someone liked for the things her responsibilities overshadowed. “Why couldn’t you just tell me? I would have… I would have –“ Regina got cut off by her own hiccup. She neared hyperventilation. She couldn’t tell up from down, lie from truth. How was she to breathe?

“You wouldn’t have,” Emma stated dryly. She uttered a short, humorless laugh. “You already claim to know who I am more than I do.”

“This all began with you. You seemed to think I wouldn’t mind. You made that decision without consulting me.”

“Would it make a difference if I said I love you?” Emma asked it calmly even when a storm raged inside her. It was nearly uncontainable, threatening to unleash itself in more than the form of love but in the promise of family. It was more fanciful than either of them could dream of, Emma knew, let alone speak of. “That maybe some part of me wanted to spare you any discomfort? Would that make a difference?”

For a moment, Regina looked like she was considering it.

“No," she replied, "that bullshit doesn’t fly with me.”

Regina didn’t want to hear any more about Woodstock’s mission of peace and love. It’s all nonsense and fairy tales. Everyone was living in a fantasy land if they thought all you needed was love. They didn’t know how the real world worked. Regina knew. She thought Emma did, too. Everywhere else may be cruel and unfair, but at least it put up a fight, a fight she could win. The people of Woodstock… they didn’t fight. They didn’t disagree. They and their ‘love’ and ‘harmony’ attitude could stuff it.

Still, Emma’s eyes only grew softer, more open somehow to Regina’s anger and underlying grief. She detected the sorrow and effort, and made to help with an open hand.

Emma reached out for the glistening face, intent to capture the darkness and turn it into something worthwhile. As she closed in, Regina’s eyes were an undying fire. They were made murky by rage. Her jaw flexed under Emma’s palm. A near soundless hiss escaped between clenched teeth. Everything about how she looked pointed towards contempt, but when her chin was prompted up it seemed so easy to let herself be guided and pay the cost later.

Emma’s tongue slipped between parted lips and professed a love she still didn’t fully understand. In it was apology, and loathing towards herself for letting something impossibly precious slip through her fingers. She started to recede but then the face in her hands tilted and captured her back.

It seemed strange to think that Regina wanted more from her after all the pain inflicted. Emma couldn’t tell how much or how little to offer, but then a hand clasped the nape of her neck while the other pressed around her waist. Shuddering under the familiarity of the embrace and dazed by the renewed intimacy, Emma delved longer into the kiss. Regina’s mouth was wet and warm. Emma thought her lips would turn sore just exploring its depths (the snark and all the little things it breathed to her in the motionlessness night), but she missed Regina so much that the ache of losing her overcame the physical ache of possessing her.

Regina moved her tongue firmly against hers. Emma moaned just as lips wrapped around it and replied with a sigh of its own. When the sound of their moans reached their ears they trembled as one. What shocked her most was Regina’s accepting it like she had every second of passion they ignited, from the time it took a blouse to be unbuttoned to the kiss they shared over Emma’s omelet breakfast in bed. The longing in Regina’s kiss felt so honest it could have passed for forgiveness.

But then Emma felt the ‘no’ in the searing pain across her bottom lip. She tasted the flow of copper like it was the death of whatever she _thought_ had passed between her and Regina.

Receding with sharp teeth and sticky rose lips, Regina gave a shove to the body in front of her. An obstruction in her path didn’t deserve anything less than a good shove. She pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth and scrubbed like it was a tattoo she had gotten in the middle of the night, drunk and half in love, and regretted it to have ever marked her skin.

Regina managed to bring her eye line to the transformation before her: confusion, sadness, devastation, and the beginning of Emma Swan’s descent from hope in a world gone sour. It affected her more than Regina would prefer. She would rather not feel the beating epicenter that was her chest quake from the inside out. The next time she tasted blood she would reluctantly attribute it to a weak heart.

Before she left, before she even allowed Emma to come to terms, she gave her last breath to a command and allocated every final scrap of determination over to fighting the tremor out of it.

“Stay away from me.”

If she had the power to repel Emma, what with her advances and her proposed feelings, Regina wouldn’t have betrayed her own heart into saying it. She also wouldn’t have turned her back on the only person who ever made her feel whole by running from home.

From Woodstock.

From Emma.


	8. Chapter 8

The conference went smoothly and as quick as Regina hoped. They had won their case the day before and everyone, even the paralegals, were being stretched thin in the aftermath. Even in victory there was work to be done. For those like Regina and her associates there was work in the overseeing of settlement and the preparing for any repercussions in the form of a contest. For the firm there were associates to be made partners, some firing of employees who hadn’t worked hard enough, and dismissing of interns who couldn’t hack the day in and day out obligations.

Thankfully, no one on Regina’s team had been let go, though they were too busy to celebrate. The days were still long and arduous, and the hours blended together so closely they hardly believed their watches by the time it struck nine.

By the time all loose ends were tied up, everyone surged from their chairs, keen on seeing their families before they tucked in. They shook hands with their team leader and said their goodnights. Regina stayed behind like she always did, feeling it necessary to carry out the unseen duties her associates would be too tired to bother with.

“It’s nice to think we don’t have to go to court tomorrow.” Regina’s lead paralegal Holly, a middle-aged woman with visibly died red hair, rounded the long conference table and gathered up files en route. “That place is starting to feel like a second home. I miss my _real_ home. Makes me consider retiring early.”

“Your boys will welcome it, I’m sure.” Regina’s voice lacked the enthusiasm it usually carried when the subject of childrearing arose between her and Holly.

“At this age they would rather attend concerts with their friends and ignore the fact that they have two well-worn parents.” Holly dropped her hands and stared off. “Theo and I should take that vacation to Hawaii. We’ve been putting it off for years. The case is finished and I’ve been grooming Anne to take over for me so I can be part-time.”

A noncommittal grunt returned.

Holly gathered the papers and files into a stack which she then heaved into her arms. “Anyway,” she sighed. “What about you? Do you have any plans for a getaway?”

“I have work to do.”

“And I know you like it that way, but you could always give yourself a vacation by working from home. It’s a change of scenery, and I’ll bet Henry would love the time with you.”

Regina pursed her lips and stared intently at the paper in her hand.

“Alright, well, I’m off. Congratulations again on a job well done.” She shouldered her purse and offered a tired smile. “Goodnight. And _go home_ , Regina.”

Regina’s nod affirmed that she understood and the subtle glance towards the door ordered the woman to leave her in peace. When she felt alone between the steadily ticking clock and the empty round table, she gathered her things and traveled back to her personal office. There she dropped into the expensive leather chair she received as a gift upon making partner two years ago. After a lengthy exhale Regina busied herself with anything on her computer that would distract her from troublesome thoughts.

Regina and Henry had been living unhappily in the city and not speaking a word about it. Tip toeing around each other became routine as did separate dinners with Regina nibbling on takeout in the late hours of her office and Henry making full use of their kitchen. When she came home her mind was too much in a fog to notice and even if she did her son would have gone without a scolding just so she could take a bath.

They had been like this since their unscheduled departure from Woodstock. That had been a month ago and Henry still didn’t get an explanation as to why he had to leave Jordan bereft of a proper goodbye. He pursued the subject with a veracity that should have tried Regina’s patience, and while at first she stonewalled him with angry shouts of being his mother and not having to explain herself to him, she soon fell into some sort of weird alternative. Regina evaded him, and it hurt him more than he would have liked to admit. Any hint of confrontation or mention of Woodstock had her running in the opposite direction. It was so unlike her that Henry couldn’t tell what was going on inside her head, whether she was angry, depressed, or so content with their unreasonable lifestyle that she lost her mind. He hadn’t a clue, so when she ran in one direction, he ran opposite of her.

Summer break continued. While Henry snuck off to wherever he went to, Regina spent more time than usual at the firm. She couldn’t bring herself to spend any more time than necessary in the penthouse. It didn’t feel like home before they left for Woodstock; it meant nothing more to her than a guesthouse now.

Ideally, Regina _should_ have been happy. She settled a case that had taken a year of her blood, sweat, and tears. The divorce from her wildly content spouse went through as did their joint custody agreement with Regina awarded as primary caregiver. She had the stable income, a job that allowed her to work whatever hours she deemed acceptable and which gave her the freedom to be with her son morning, noon, and night.

And yet she felt the extreme opposite of happy. As of late, whenever she contemplated her happiness the one person who had ruined that happiness broke out of the carefully constructed prison of memory. It proved inevitable, the exhaustion from working herself to the bones and subsequent slip up. It all led to Emma when she didn’t at all expect to remember her. Lately, she had the fortitude to ignore the more fervent emotions of rage, love, and remorse.

Niggling fear pressed Regina to move her hands faster, to type more furiously, and to do anything necessary in keeping that fortitude from crumbling. But soon the tears blurred her vision. She tried with all her might to focus on her computer’s screen and what it was telling her about cases, settlements, indictments, whatever attorney’s concern themselves with and then that’s when it all fell apart. In her effort to understand her own job Regina shoved her keyboard clear across the desk, sending it soaring in midair and landing with a clatter on the floor.

Rage, love, remorse, it all came flooding back. A certain degree of strength was required to combat the memory of tender love Emma made to her, or the quiet moments in bed when Regina admitted her failings. With her face descending into her hands, it occurred to her that she had none of that strength.

She had told Emma everything that night. She poured out her frustrations over many things, her marriage being the hardest to face up to. Much realization arose during her conversations with Emma. In hindsight, it seemed embarrassing. They were lying naked on their sides and facing one another with openness and opportunity. Emma listened patiently, making the occasional crack to lighten the subject matter and allowing Regina to ramble on and on into the night and discover her own shortcomings in the process.

Ultimately, her marriage ended because they drifted apart. It was a cliché, but that didn’t make it any less true. Their partnership had been founded on logic. After a grueling period of schooling, both of them had professional careers by the age of 27. Their initial relationship could be described as doting, for each was keen on taking care of the other in a financial sense. They got along just fine – fine being a generic term because that was exactly what their marriage could be defined as: fine. They both were practical individuals who felt companionship was the next obvious step with a house and a baby to follow.

Speaking of it out loud to Emma, Regina didn’t even think they had been in love. By the time Henry came into the world Regina and her husband actually had to spend time together. In the year they had known each other they hadn’t really talked about anything other than business or plans. Now with a baby between them they had to scramble in making themselves into a family. It wasn’t natural, but forced. The love and care for their son ended up being the only natural fragment in their lives. And so for 14 years they acted the part of devoted couple for him.

The performance only held up for so long.

Sooner or later their physical relations became strained. It didn’t come as a shock. Affection wasn’t their forte. The argued a lot, but the only thing they agreed on happened to be the decision to start sleeping in separate bedrooms. Regina became used to the arrangement and even grew happier because of it. That as, until she was rudely awakened: a wayward sock; the sight of a stained, unwashed coffee pot; sleep-worn cushions of the sofa reminding her of her wedded houseguest. Traces of him ripped her from her dream world and forced her to look at their situation. The clues aggravated her. It tore her apart and put her emotions on edge. She felt like she was straddling a fine line between freedom and matrimony. It was stifling. It was torture.

They anticipated their separation like it was a long time coming. They escaped their marriage as amicably as they entered it. The shared relief to be free of this game and yet guilty for breaking up the home life Henry used to think ideal. Regina held out for her son as long as she could bear it, but his father saw little reason to drag it out and was the first to broach a separation. For that, she hated him. Between the two of them she’d be the first to claim primary hardship and knew in hindsight that it should have been her right to bring up divorce. It was in her nature, after all, to beat the competition, to win, to be the first at _everything_.

That’s what Emma knew. That’s how safe Regina felt in her bed, stripped and astray, to relinquish the past and the burgeoning resentment towards her husband. Everything. At the end of it all, she experienced the unexpected: relief. After exhaling all her insecurities she anticipated a crippling sense of terror. Emma wouldn’t accept her. The next time Henry saw her he’d see the bitterness in her eyes.

But terror was far from what she felt. Emma had accepted her – kissed her, in fact, and declared how tough Regina persisted for the benefit of Henry and how lovely she looked in the aftermath. And when Henry met her the next morning he nudged her and complimented that she looked like she inhaled pure sunshine. The outcome of unloading all her grievances and realizations turned out to be cathartic.

Oddly enough, rehashing this memory in her head provided Regina with that same unspoken relief. She lifted her head from her hands as it dawned on her. She felt cleansed of anger and renewed with dried tears and a steadily beating heart. Even after everything – the betrayal, the heartbreak, the distance – Emma still opened her eyes and her heart.

Tear tracks forgotten, Regina flew from her chair and retrieved her keyboard. She hooked it back up to her computer, experiencing a passing sense of gladness that it still functioned, and keyed into her email account.

It had been saved under an unnamed file in her inbox. Upon first receiving the message it boded strange that Emma should send it at all. E-mail didn’t seem like her style. Showing up unannounced in scuffed boots and a wrinkled leather jacket did. Perhaps that struck Regina as a possibility because deep down she wanted Emma to barge into her office with a wild look of yearning painted on her face. Instead, the sheriff settled for e-mail.

Regina hovered her cursor over the message before clicking it open. When she did it was still dated as having been sent a week after the Mills’ left town and the words still conveyed their purpose through an awkward style known to Emma. The only difference was how pensive she felt reading it compared to the thousand other times she dissected it.

_Regina,_

_I’d ask you not to delete this but knowing you I’m sure this is already sitting in the trash. If by some major accident it’s not and you are reading this, then don’t freak out and do something scary like sick a restraining order on me (ha… or not). I’m not bothering you about us, even though there is no ‘us.’ You made that clear last week and I’m respecting your decision._

_What I have to say is regarding Cora. Please, don’t delete me. Just hear me out. Ever since you and Henry left she’s been sick with worry for you guys. I know Henry calls her up to calm her down some, but it’s not the same. I’ve tried my best to keep her out of trouble; Cora doesn’t make it easy with her public disturbances when protesting and her history with “gardening” (cause, you know…pot). It’s getting a bit awkward as I’m sheriff. I feel torn between my responsibilities – the law and my friend. Sorry, I’m really screwing up by making this about me. This isn’t about my problems._

_Cora talks about you with this love in her voice. It sounds as pure as sunshine. I didn’t think I’d see the day Cora’s daughter came home. I don’t know if you noticed your ears burning all those years, but you’ve been the talk of the town. Some didn’t believe you’d return, but your mom never stopped hoping. She’s so proud of you, Regina, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that excitable over the idea of a grandson. She may not set the most mature example, but she tries really hard to guide Henry. I have faith in Cora. I know that sounds corny and something that would go on a button (if Cora got wind of that I bet she’d make it her next project), but if she taught him half as much about being fair and open-hearted as she taught you, then I’d say Henry’s got a pretty great grandmother._

_A hatchet needs to get buried. You’re smart enough to figure it out, but we can both admit there’s a stubbornness in you that prevents you from doing anything about it. Think about it, Regina. You want to be the first to take that handle like you’re the first at everything. You win, that’s what you do, so win at burying the hatchet between you and Cora. If there’s any hope for you to open up to the people you care about, you have to get over the emotional hang ups that plague your past. I know these nightmares well, and they won’t go away unless you make peace. This resentment you have over your mom is eating away at your heart._

_You don’t want to forgive me? At least try to open yourself to the idea of forgiving your mom. Because she’s your family. She has a right to be in your heart because she made it possible and she has been trying damn hard to keep it going._

_And I know I promised not to make this about us, but I’d regret it if I don’t. You were right to call me out on my bullshit. Yeah, I should have told you about me and Cora. It wasn’t up to me to deem what was and what wasn’t history. It may be in the past for me, but for you it was a rude awakening._

_So out of love for you and Henry and, hell, even Cora, I’d ask you not to curse your mother to a life without you. Don’t blame her for my stupidity. This is on me. Embrace your family, Regina. Go to them and embrace them because they are alive and they want you._

_Please take care of yourself._

_Emma_

Regina’s hand unstuck itself from the mouse and joined her other in a wringing mess. She receded until her back molded to the leather of her chair. Brow knotted in as absurd contemplation as her hands, Regina stared at the e-mail and the principles it drew on. Faith, gallantry, superfluous yet comical anecdotes, poorly concealed affection… These were the things she hadn’t picked up on before. They were triggers which opened Regina up to possibility and, ultimately, her own selfishness.

Cora had been leaving voicemails ever since Regina left; the number was approaching double zeros. Against her will Regina worried over the way she had left things between her and her mother. This guilt was a new development in their relationship. Much had changed since Woodstock and since they’d resumed something resembling a mother/daughter concern for one another. Still, Regina could hold a grudge. She learned through Henry that his grandmother hadn’t resorted to destructive behavior and that put her at ease… but only for so long.

If Regina learned anything from living in Woodstock, it was that routine sucked. It dried her appetite and left her grasping for the unattainable. She missed so much from that town, something of which happened to be spontaneity. She didn’t want anything less, not for her and not for her son. She had a family to put back together. She had herself to put back together.

Emma was right. Whatever had been damaged between her and Regina, the same could not be said for family. Love for Cora couldn’t be any easier to accept than it could be rejected. It wasn’t too late for her and her mother. And Emma had been right about another thing: Regina would get her hand on the handle first.

* * *

_1 Month Later_

Cora looked older than Regina remembered. Her frizzy, unkempt hair had developed some grey near her temples and her hands were frail; whatever she grabbed with them gave a tremble. Most startling were her eyes which contained a permanent sadness. This sorrow was reflected in Regina as well for they were under the constant reminder of the father and husband they had lost so many years ago.

After years of neglect, Regina finally saw the woman behind the whimsy veil, and it made her feel responsible for her mother. Cora had been so successful in putting on the show of an exuberant, welcoming individual that one could hardly detect the loneliness.

So in truth, Cora hadn’t aged much in the last month. Regina just didn’t notice before. Now that things were working there was nothing stopping her. Bitterness and long standing grudges weren’t keeping the blind over her eyes.

Regina swooped in and took the weight off the woman’s hands. “Let me help you with that,” she said quickly. “There are some lighter things in that the box over there.” She nodded towards the moving van and the cardboard labeled ‘fragile’ sitting on the grass with its cohorts.

“You’d trust me with that?” Cora smirked, but bent down to lug up the box anyway.

“Why not?” Of course if they were _heavy_ breakables Regina wouldn’t let her mother get within three feet of it.

They carried their boxes into the house, minding the floor in case there was a stray chicken in their path.

“I still wish you had called me earlier. I could have prepared for you and the sprout.”

Regina gave a meandering sweep of the living room she was passing through. Despite the efforts to tidy up the place Cora still had a very narrow definition of organization. After a wry shake of her head, Regina held back on the derision. “What on earth needs preparing?” She smiled brightly, taking pains. “It looks ideal.”

“I can’t see you, dear, but I know by that tone that you’re full of – “

“Grandma! Let me help you with that!”

Henry came racing down the stairs and liberated the breakables from Cora. It proved difficult as she was reluctant to let it go.

“What is it with you people? I can carry a _box_ ,” Cora emphasized indignantly. Her nails clawed the cardboard, but it was futile. “And I thought I told you not to call me ‘Grandma.’”

“How about we upgrade to ‘Grams’ and we lose the ‘sprout’?”

Cora looked like she was developing an aneurysm just contemplating it. Her soft whine dragged off into a hesitant, “Okay.”

“That looked like it hurt,” Regina remarked, side-eying her in amusement.

“I can be defiant when I want to be.”

“Oh?”

“I pick my battles, Regina. You lawyers should know all about that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should,” Cora said promptly, chin raised like a queen. “Now, I’m assuming you want all the boxes labeled ‘fragile’ to go in your room?”

“No,” Henry said flatly as he traveled up the stairs with said breakables, “she wants to keep them in the coop with the crazy chickens.”

“Henry,” censured Regina.

Cora raised a brow. “What’s eating him?”

“He’s stuck here unpacking while Jordan is off pining for his call.” Regina sighed, feeling for her son. She knew a little about delayed tactics and the responsibilities that kept one from enjoying themselves. “He has this big plan to get a job at the co-op so they can be closer. It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Mm, pining is good for the soul.” Cora sneaked over Regina’s shoulder to offer an exaggerated wink.

Staring like her mother had lost her mind, Regina pacified her with a weak grin and went back to unpacking.

By mid-day they had successfully moved all the boxes to their proper places in the house. All that remained was a few furniture items which, between the three of them, managed to get dragged out of the truck and onto the grass.

“Some friends and neighbors offered to stop by later to help with the furniture,” informed Cora.

They sat in chairs, Regina in a tasteful burgundy arm chair and Cora taking Henry’s New York Rangers bean bag. They relaxed from their hard work, legs crossed (Cora toppling over every time she so much as moved on the sack), and sipping from a Mills secret family recipe.

“They should be here after we finish lunch. I didn’t promise them anything in return for their services, so know that they might hang around a little longer.”

Backing off on the lemonade before it went up her nose, Regina sputtered behind her hand. “Oh, please for the love, Mother, no welcome home parties. Please, I beg you.”

“No parties,” Cora said, leaning over to lay a hand on her daughter’s arm. “I assure you.”

Regina breathed a sigh of relief and sipped her drink while Cora brought her phone out of view and proceeded to cancel her plans by mass e-mail. She snuck a glance to make sure Regina wasn’t looking. She had been fairly quiet during their rest, of course there was much to think about considering the new changes in her family’s life. She seemed happy about the new living arrangement and how it still allowed her to do work for the firm. However, something obscure was going on in that head of hers. Her daughter’s eyes were fixated on the garden but the way theyshifted, anxious and uncertain, proved her mind had drifted elsewhere.

As if thinking better of it, Cora went back to her cell and kept one of the recipients in the invitation.

Henry arrived at the precise moment their stomachs started rumbling. He came bearing two heaping bags. Cora, ever prepared for food related events, had a blanket spread on the grass and joined her family around their feast.

Henry divvied out the items. “Easy on the kraut, right?”

Regina nodded, taking the wax paper wrapped sandwich and tearing into it with gusto. “Thank you, dear.”

“That deli in town is pretty cool,” Henry said, opening up his own sandwich. “I didn’t know they made pastrami. It smelled so good it took everything in me not to start eating it on the way here!”

“Well, we’re glad you didn’t.” Cora pointed at him with a greasy finger. “Your mother and I are starving. If you came any later I would have started thinking this chair was made from popcorn.”

Henry chuckled. “Those things inside the bag are called ‘beads,’ Grams.”

“Beads? Oh, I love beads! But not these things. These are…” Cora squirmed around for effect, “they’re crunchy.”

“Maybe they’re crunchy beads.”

Regina gave a curious frown and asked what no one had the cajones to ask. “Does _anyone_ know what they’re made of?”

The other two burst into the laughter. Regina joined in more so because Cora had tumbled over for the tenth time that day and Henry was hugging his pastrami to his chest in laughter. It was easy and light and felt so longed for after all the obstacles they had crossed together to get there.

Upon taking a bite of her sandwich, Regina’s taste buds caught something peculiar. Her initial reaction was shock. Then, after turning the new flavor over, it was like a thousand sparks set off in her mouth. Her eyes widened. It was so mouthwatering delicious.

“Henry, did they add anything new to my sandwich?”

“Uh, yeah. Sliced Granny Smith apples. Someone gave me a tip.”

She nodded, trying to contain the moans after hearing the tartness had a name.

“Yeah, so while I was picking up lunch in town I ran into Emma.”

Regina paused mid-bite, eyes trained on the blanket’s crocheted weave. “Sheriff Swan?” She continued chewing, albeit slowly.

Henry looked hesitantly to Cora to gage her reaction, but she seemed content to let the conversation run its course. The neutrality which his grandmother carried surprised him. She usually had her hands in everything from town gossip to family secrets. But not today. To his disappointment, her well-meant ignorance actually lent a bit of pressure on him.

“Yeah,” he replied, raising his voice a bit with courage. “I told her we’re moving into Grandma Cora’s place, but I think she already knew that. Everyone in town does.”

Cora bowed her head like a turtle shrugging its head into its shell. “I may or may not have had something to do with that.”

“We talked about the co-op and any part-time jobs that might be available,” Henry remarked cheerfully. “Apparently, the orchard is looking for help. She seemed to think it would be a good way to spend the rest of my summer break.”

“Not to mention a perfect opportunity to flirt with your sweetie.” Cora fluttered her eyes in a gesture of romantic mockery.

Henry let out a sufferable exhale and rolled his eyes. “You know, there’s a valid reason why I go to Emma about these things and not you two.”

“Oh, well, excuse _me_.”

Regina simply lifted a single brow.

“Anyway, Emma and I were at the deli and we got to talking. She’s really, nice, you know? I know this sounds weird but I kind of missed having her around.”

“Why is that?” asked Cora.

Henry shrugged, thinking about it himself. “Well, if I ever get into trouble or… well, not that this has ever happened, but if I ever get beaten up or teased at school I’d call her to take care of the guy.” He paused, eyebrows pinched as he thought about it some more. “Of course, she’s the sheriff so it’d be more like a strict warning than an actual beat down. But it’s nice to know she’s around to help us out.”

“No one’s perfect.” Cora glanced at Regina. “But I’d say she’s pretty harmless. Some might say passionately protective.”

Henry squinted. “Okay,” he drawled. “Sure. So back to what I was talking about: Emma and I at the deli. As we were talking I noticed she looked the same but there was something off about her.” Henry snuck a peek towards his mother. Her gaze was downturned and she looked frightfully unreadable (more so than normal). Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and came out with it. “I think she’d really like it if you stopped by and said hi or whatever.” Because, seriously, this ‘Emma doesn’t exist’ thing was getting ridiculous.

Regina, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the conversation, straightened in place. “Did she say that?”

“She didn’t have to,” Henry said pointedly and at the women’s distrust he explained, “I have a girlfriend now. I know these things.”

Cora’s normally benevolent eyes narrowed threateningly into her grandson. “I hope you don’t mean in the biblical sense because then I’d have to sit you on the couch and give you The Talk.”

A panicked look spread across his face. “The…?”

Of course Regina enjoyed her son’s panic. In so doing, she leaned over to him, whispering, “If it’s half as embarrassing as the talk she gave me at your age, I’d slow things down with Jordan if I were you.”

He nodded vaguely.

When after Henry shook off his mortification he found that he still had a stomach to finish his lunch. He was a teenager, after all. “So you going to visit Emma?” he muffled around his big bite of pastrami.

The scowl only lasted a second. Disappointment in her son’s manners quickly vanished into thin air and was replaced with the focus of their conversation. Emma, she thought breathlessly and without a lack of sorrow. The memory of her, faults and all, provoked a deep sense of longing not only for Emma but for the will to forgive.

Suddenly, Regina was struck by something. She had not understood it at the time. The first party Cora threw for her and Henry upon their coming to Woodstock had so assaulted her sensibilities she could hardly see straight. Regina remembered entering the kitchen that night, being dragged by the hand of her mother, and shoved nearly outright into arms of her new acquaintance. Cora’s description of Emma as “the sun” didn’t make sense at the time, but Regina, now possessed with inexplicable mercy, began to see the resemblance. She could see everything from her golden curls which flared at the edges when sunlight hit them to the laugh lines around her mouth to her generosity in her unspoken manner. Emma was warmth and comfort.

“Yoo-hooo.”

“Mom?”

“I think she’s pining.”

Flinching slightly, Regina broke out her trance. “Hm?”

A laugh bubbled up but Henry made sure to suppress it. “Emma,” he said plainly. “Are you going to see her?”

Regina sighed, dusted off her hands, and reached out to bring Henry closer. She wound an arm around his shoulder and said with as much courage as could be mustered, “There will come a time when I will bring myself to see her again. Though, I don’t know when that will be.” She dragged off meekly, forcing her eyes not to meet anything that hit sunlight.

“This is a small town, Regina.” Cora’s smile was patient and sympathetic. She scooted closer, but not too close as to alienate her daughter, again. She wanted to hold on to her this time without resorting to actual force. “It could be sooner than you think,” she slipped in at the last minute, because Cora was Cora and she couldn’t hide her relentless hope even if it slayed her. She winked for effect.

“Is that so?” Regina rolled her eyes amusingly. She brought her mother into her side as well. “At any rate, I am exactly where I want to be.” She kissed the side of Henry’s head because he had steadily outgrown her and squeezed her mouther’s shoulder with renewed warmth. “With my family.”

Shaking like a leaf, Cora couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Oh, let’s hug it out!” She prompted a tighter embrace than either of her family members deemed necessary, thereby smushing her daughter like the icing between two cookies. “Feel the love!”


End file.
